


Stars From Me

by mckinlily



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, 5+1 Things ~inspired~, Family Bonding, Found family (literally), Gen, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, except as usual the story structure got away from me, shiro won't stop adopting teenagers in space, space old west au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:27:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 93,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25785856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mckinlily/pseuds/mckinlily
Summary: Shiro is just looking to escape the ever-expanding Galra empire and maybe his memories, too. If that means wrangling giant space lizards for a living, so be it. He definitely doesn’t intend to adopt a lost teen.Or four.AKA: Five times Shiro gives someone a second chance and one time they join together to prove he deserves one, too.
Relationships: Allura & Shiro (Voltron), Hunk & Shiro (Voltron), Keith & Shiro (Voltron), Lance & Shiro (Voltron), Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro, Shiro & Voltron Paladins
Comments: 179
Kudos: 116
Collections: SomethingMore





	1. Keith

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't exactly a vld fix-it fic, but spite is a powerful motivator and if canon can't give us the found family we deserve then I'll just have to write it myself. So come enjoy about 100k of the paladins bonding as a family.
> 
> ...and also Shiro's trauma. Because that's ANOTHER thing canon didn't make good on that I'm deeply disappointed about. It's gonna be a fun ride XD
> 
> Thank you [Socks](https://braincoins.tumblr.com) for the beta!!

Shiro crash lands into a desert planet. Not out of lack of talent so much as lack of choice. The landing gears of his stolen shuttle gave out two systems ago, so it was either waste away in the void of space or crash. Gracefully.

Or he can tell himself it was graceful.

Not that it really matters. The planet he lands on is lightyears away from the Alliance Hub and labeled in the shuttle’s navigation maps as TK7526-38, which best as he can tell translates to “The Buttcrack of Nowhere.” The planet itself is sparsely populated, and the slowly dying sensors on the dashboard read the nearest life form as miles away.

The ship settles with a crunch and a sigh of the vacuum seal being cracked, meaning Shiro’s space travels are well and officially over. Which is fine by Shiro. He doesn’t so much have somewhere he’s traveling _to_ as a place he’s running _from_ , and this particular forsaken clump of interstellar dust fits his purposes as well as any. He climbs out of the shuttle.

And flinches.

It’s _bright_. The shuttle’s viewscreens weren’t real windows but carefully recreated projections, and before that—Shiro cuts that thought off fast as an unidentifiable horror/panic makes itself known at the back of his throat. It’s been too long since Shiro has seen _light_. He’s pretty sure that the star this planet circles is actually redder than Earth’s, but at this proximity, the color saturates and his mind just reads white. It takes time for his eyes to adjust, and in that time, he registers other things—the feel of wind on his skin picking up and ruffling his hair, the smell of air that is neither canned nor heavy with sweat and blood and piss. The faint prick of sand hitting his exposed hand and face. The quiet that comes with no engines running, no life support humming. For a moment, he’s frozen, stunned and near broken by the foreign _newness_ of it all.

But Shiro’s never been the type to stand around. And there’s another part of him, less comfortable under his skin, that doesn’t like being unaware of his surroundings, that refuses to let him rest until he’s investigated thoroughly and knows the risks.

Because he’s not safe. Just because he’s free doesn’t mean he’s safe, and Shiro knows it as deeply as he knows his own name—or deeper, perhaps, because even that now seems thin and fake. But those thoughts lead to something uglier and colder, something Shiro doesn’t want to investigate. His memory is fractured and gooey and mostly dark. Poking at the holes only fills him with horror and fear and a feeling that’s deeply disturbing, so he doesn’t. The unknowns in his memory bother him, but Shiro has gotten good at blocking out the things he wants to ignore.

…He doesn’t want to think about how good.

Better to focus on the planet. It reminds him of nothing so much as the southwest desert of the United States. Ironic, since he spent so many years in the Arizona desert training to get to space, only to end up here again. There’s the same massive cliffs and strange rock formations, the difference being here the rocks have a tint of green in the familiar red and the air tastes faintly like soap.

The wind picks up, spinning small clouds of dirt, and in the distance there’s a soft, almost electric crackling noise that pokes at the dark recesses of his memory. Shiro shudders and tries to ignore the heightened sense of anticipatory _hurt—pain—fear_ and instead focuses on the shuttle. The shuttle is familiar. The shuttle makes sense.

The shuttle is also almost certainly broken. Shiro isn’t an engineer, but he knows a little about spacecraft and their care. There’s a chance he could fix this. But it would take parts and tools—resources he doesn’t have. He literally has nothing. Even the clothes on his back are more a reminder of what he wants to escape than a help.

 _So what are you going to do?_ Shiro demands of himself. _Sit and mope or actually do something?_

Shiro squares his shoulders and shoves the dark memories aside. He has wind in his hair, sand under his feet, and a view of the sky. He refuses to be held captive anymore.

The settlement Shiro finds (it really can’t be called more than that, a collection lopsided of buildings and savaged tech) is not inhabited by any single race. In fact, Shiro is yet to even spot more than two of the same species. One of the buildings looks a little more inviting than the others and has two swinging doors like in an old Western except these are six feet tall and buzz like dying florescent lights when they move. Shiro goes to push them open, and electricity cracks in his teeth. He immediately yanks his hand back.

And freezes.

That hand isn’t his.

Shiro stares, panic rising in his chest. _That isn’t his hand._ It’s silver and black and metal all the way up to his bicep, and it feels horribly out of place and yet completely expected. He can’t—

_—Pain. Bright lights. Held down. No. NononononononNONONO—_

“Fugitive?” says a low drawl that doesn’t fit at all.

Shiro starts, shocked by the sandy, dusty street around him. He doesn’t know what he expected, but this doesn’t fit. Shiro tries to take stock of what’s around him, the distance to the wall, the doors (Oh yes, they stung him, and his hand is _gone_ and he doesn’t know what it’s replaced with but it stirs memories he doesn’t want to touch), and before him is an opponent, taller than he is, lanky build, humanoid and therefore likely the same weak points but strength varies vastly between species—

Why is he _thinking_ like this?

The alien in front of him is humanoid and purple and has a slouch that reminds Shiro of the stoners who used to hang around the hover tracks Shiro would sneak onto as a teenager. He’s got a cap that looks like an old aviator helmet, a vest with an open chest, and a rugged, old-fashioned blaster. Shiro suspects the blaster works but is also the kind that you have to calibrate carefully or it’s as likely to blow up itself as hit whatever it is you’re targeting.

Definitely dangerous then. But the alien isn’t reaching for it at the moment so that means Shiro is safe for now.

Though he doesn’t feel safe as the alien leans forward and pokes him in the chest. It takes all his tenuous control not to snarl at the touch.

The alien either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “That a Galra uniform. Galra _prisoner_. What are you doing with it?”

The words rattle around Shiro’s head, but he forces his voice to stay light and unconcerned. “From the looks of things, I’d say I’m wearing it.”

The alien leans out of Shiro’s personal space, and Shiro can breathe easier again.

“People don’t escape the Galra prisons,” says the alien. “They say no one can.”

“No one can or no one has yet?” Shiro replies, still keeping his voice falsely light. He’s keeping close tabs on the body language of the alien in front of him and the part of him that isn’t focused on that is alarmed by this sense of paranoia, but the rest of him demands it.

The alien’s bored expression twitches for a moment. His eyes narrow. “You’re not Altean, are you?”

The name grabs at something in Shiro’s mind, but the next second it’s gone. There’s enough things that don’t make sense already. He’s too exhausted to chase it.

“Human,” he says. “From planet Earth.”

“Never heard of it,” frowns the alien.

Shiro shrugs. “Most people haven’t.”

The alien rolls his shoulders back and his joints make a terrible crunching sound as he does. “Well, can’t help you much if that’s where you’re heading.”

“I’m not,” says Shiro.

“Then what’s your plan here?” says the alien.

Shiro feels a bit offended. He just crash landed from the sky, he’s missing an arm, has a unsettling replacement in its place, and he’s wearing the ragged uniform of an imprisonment that he can barely remember. What sort of plan is he supposed to have?

Shiro breathes out carefully. “All I’m trying to do is outrun that Galra. Can I hunker down here or are you going to sell me out first?”

The alien laughs through his nose. “Nah, if running from the Galra is what you’re after, this is a good place to be. We don’t ask any questions if you don’t ask us, got it?”

The last five minutes have clearly undermined that last statement, but Shiro isn’t about to pick a fight. It seems Shiro’s stumbled upon some half-deserted outlaw planet. Likely full of all sorts of shady and untrustworthy characters but also likely to be the same kinds of people who want to avoid the Alliance—or, rather, what is quickly becoming the Galra empire—as much as he does. It’s probably the best Shiro is going to get.

“Got it,” says Shiro.

The alien gives him a once over and nods his head. “I’m Rolo, by the way,” he says. “My partner Nyma is inside.”

“Shiro,” says Shiro, offering his hand.

Rolo grips him halfway up the forearm, and Shiro returns it based on some leftover instinct in his tattered memories.

“Things don’t come for free here,” says Rolo. “But Nyma and I are doing a run on the Scult today. If you help us out, you might earn enough for some place to stay.”

It sounds dangerous—Or, rather, the way Rolo seems to be avoiding details is definitely suspicious. But it’s not as if he has any better options.

Shiro agrees.

The Scult is a picked over, abandoned junkyard with some sort of underground spring gurgling up from its depths. Shiro gets the impression the water is as precious as any material that might be found here. Maybe that doesn’t mean much. Most the tech looks ancient and horrifically out of date, like the kind of stuff Earth came up with before the Alliance first made contact with them fifty years ago.

Still, given that this junkyard must have been around for decaphoebs, it’s not as completely gutted as Shiro might have expected. It’s difficult work, sorting through the material, digging through wet sand, unburying half-submerged pieces that seem to go on forever, but not enough to explain why no one’s done it yet. Or why Rolo and Nyma seem to be constantly looking over their shoulders. They won’t tell him directly, but Shiro overhears something about “lizards.” The word buzzes in Shiro’s ear a little, normally a sign the word isn’t a good translation, but the best his universal translator can come up with. Shiro would think they were doing something against the law except, well, his impression is that the entire _planet_ is against the law.

Shiro has just spent a good half an hour stripping copper out an old shuttle door and is carrying it up to Rolo’s (possibly stolen) hover at the crest of the hill. He glances out across the desert planes as he deposits the copper and that’s when he spots it.

Little more than a black smudge against the horizon, nestled up against one of the great sandstone cliffs that spill into sand and this planet’s version of sagebrush. It’s too far away to be part of the town but too regular to be anything but intentional. And something about it—

“What’s that place?” Shiro asks Nyma who has just returned with her own haul.

Nyma follows his gaze and her lips purse together. “Oh that? That’s the Lion House,” she says. She cocks her hip. “Rumor is it’s haunted. No one has been able to stay there for more than a quintent.”

Now that Shiro looks, he thinks he can make out the shape an old-fashioned ranch home. It’s lonely and abandoned, and Shiro feels drawn to it in a way he can’t explain. 

"So nobody lives there?” he confirms.

“Nobody would want to.” Rolo has made his way up to the hover as well and leans against it now. “Even if it weren’t haunted, there’s still the—”

Nyma’s eyes suddenly go wide. “ _Get down!_ ”

Rolo lets out a string of words that don’t translate, and Shiro feels a prickle on the back of his neck. He sees an elongated shadow cover his own, and that’s all the warning he gets before a horn slams into his side and he goes flying head over heels across the Scult.

Shiro lands in a roll and flips onto his feet. _Lizards._ Suddenly he realizes why Nyma and Rolo were worried about them. They’re the size of rhinos, purple, with two sets of red eyes, tusks, and sharp, carnivorous teeth. There’s three of them, and they’re circling Shiro. One lurches. Shiro managed to roll out of the way just before its jaw closes around his leg. As he comes out of his crouch, there’s yelling in the background, but there’s always yelling. There’s normally not stray rebar. Shiro stumbles, trips, and lands sprawled on his back. One of the lizards crouches over him, its tail lashing. It’s going to be the last thing Shiro sees before he dies.

No.

_No._

Shiro is _not_ going to die.

He _refuses._

The pain starts in Shiro’s right arm. He chases it, pushes into it out of pure instinct. The electrifying feeling is back in his teeth and a pounding headache, but Shiro keeps going, pushing, demanding—

Something snaps. There’s a high ringing in the back of his head, but Shiro is already moving, right arm humming—he _strikes._

The glowing hand cuts through flesh like a hot knife through butter. The smell of blood and burnt skin fills Shiro’s nostrils. He’s already moving out of the way. Three opponents, but no one’s managed to beat Champion. One down. He whirls around. These are only animals. They haven’t learned to fear him yet. With one strike, his cuts off the tusk of the second lizard and with the next, his hand slices through its throat. The third tries to take a bite out of his back, but Shiro ducks, already moving. He grabs the flailing tail, plants his feet, and uses the leverage to throw the lizard onto its back. Wasting no time, he dives forward and drives his hand through its head.

The lizard twitches and then goes still. Shiro watches. Others have tried feigning defeat before, he won’t let his guard down until he’s sure, but this one appears to just be dead. Shiro’s aware of the other lizard corpses around him, but he doesn’t move, waiting for…

For what? There’s no cheers, not even anger that he finished the fight so quickly. They had been roaring in his ears before, hadn’t they? Instead is—

Silence.

Wind. Sand. Taste of soap.

Shiro is standing in the middle of three carcasses on a desert planet. But that wasn’t where he had thought he was. He had thought he was—

The thought drops off like a stone in water. The answer was there, but he can’t reach it. Instead, the thought dissolves and he’s left with a blank.

“Well. I guess you don’t have to worry about the lizards,” says Nyma. She’s watching him, either bored or wary.

(She should be scared. Everyone—)

“Let’s get going. I don’t want to be here when their friends show up,” says Rolo.

Shiro nods and wordlessly follows them. The blood on his hand is already beading up and dripping away, leaving the metal as pristine as ever.

As if that was what it was made for.

Nyma and Rolo drop him off at the Lion House. Whether because they want to help him or they want to get rid of him is anyone’s guess. There’s a wide wrap-around porch leading to the front door, and the planks creak as Shiro walks on them. Rolo and Nyma were right in a way: the house has a _feeling_ to it. One that’s heavy and regretful and hurting. But that doesn’t repel Shiro. He remembers, a lifetime ago, his grandmother teaching him about kami. Spirits are to be respected, but he doesn’t think they have to be feared. At the entrance, Shiro takes off his boots off and then makes his way inside.

It’s fully furnished, which is something of a surprise. On the ground floor there’s a kitchen, a mudroom leading to what looks like a room for laundry, one living room, and strangely, a Victorian-era sitting room that has a chandelier of all things in it. Dust covers are over the furniture as if someone had left for vacation and never made it back. The walls have peeling wallpaper with faded patterns in red, blue, yellow, and green. The paneling is painted black.

And yet, it doesn’t feel depressing. Unlived in, wild, lonely, yes, but not depressing. Shiro makes his way through, trailing his fingers along edges of the furniture and then the banister as his makes his way upstairs. Tech pads, pens, and other junk are scattered haphazardly on the ground floor. Upstairs, Shiro find a hallway with four doors, two on each side. Behind three of them he finds bedrooms, beds covered in dust covers and filled with different varieties of stuff. But the last one—

Oh. It’s a bathroom, he realizes looking around the small space. There’s definitely what would work as a toilet, a hand-cleansing unit in the wall, and a mirror above a counter that has what Shiro can assume are beauty products scattered across it although he can’t fathom their use. He moves to examine them closer, but the mirror catches the corner of his eye and he freezes.

That—is that _him_?

Shiro moves closer to the mirror in mute horror. He’s gone _grey._ Most of his hair is still black, thank goodness, but his bangs are snowy white. There’s a massive scar across the bridge of his nose, angry red, extending almost to his cheekbones. He’s pale, too, but at least that is to be expected. The lines around his eyes are not.

Shiro’s breathing picks up and his metal hand digs into the counter. How long was he gone? What _happened_ to him?

First his arm, now his hair and the scar—Shiro looks down at his body, covered in the skin-tight prisoner’s garb, and bile rises in his throat. He almost doesn’t want to know. But what if that’s changed too? What if he isn’t _him_ anymore?

Shiro glances around, but no one’s around and he _has_ to know. The prisoner uniform has no zipper or ties as far as he can tell, but he has a metal hand and makes quick work of the material. He peels it off like a snake shedding its skin and then faster, afraid of what he’ll find if he lingers. Finally, the jumpsuit is kicked to the floor, and Shiro forces himself to look at his body.

It’s almost as bad as he feared. At least the rest is still human. He’s bigger than he used to be, and his muscles are defined in a way he can’t remember them being before. But mostly, he is _covered_ in scars. Gnarled grizzly lines, shiny stretches of thin skin like someone took out a chunk of out of him, a puncture wound the size of a half dollar and a matching one on the other side of his hip. Shiro turns, and his back—his _back._ Raised, angry skin, marred in barbed, stinging lines— _electricity cutting into his back, screams, bile, seizing—_

Shiro comes back to himself, hand on his marred shoulder. He’s oddly still except for a tiny tremor of muscles under his skin. It’s too much. Last thing Shiro remembers, he was Lieutenant Shirogane, pilot, first human to fly for the Alliance. Golden Boy of the Galaxy Garrison turned into minor intergalactic darling. Maybe never _quite_ as put together as the myth of _Takashi Shirogane_ but not—not—

Something creaks.

Shiro jumps, right hand already brought up like a blade in front of his chest. His eyes dart frantically around the room.

What he finds is the glass door at the other end of the bathroom swung open. Nothing to be alarmed about. There’s a stall with tiled walls and a U-shaped bench that wraps around the area. Curious, Shiro steps inside—and yelps when something hits his shoulder. He jumps out of the way, already flinching as he looks up. There’s a slit in the ceiling and it’s pouring—

Wait.

That’s water.

It’s a _shower._

Excitement, sudden and more urgent than Shiro anticipated, bubbles in his stomach. He holds out his natural hand. The water flows over it, toasty warm like it’s been sitting in the sun for hours. Shiro swallows against the lump in his throat. He hasn’t had actual shower in _years_ —since before he left Earth. It’s been all sonar baths and infrared sonication. He steps under the stream and closes his eyes, letting the water rush over him. It’s a good pressure, hard enough to feel the drops hitting his skin but not sharp enough to hurt. Shiro digs his hands into his hair, scrubbing out who knows how long of grime and filth. If he keeps his eyes closed and doesn’t think too hard about his right hand, he can pretend he’s his old self again. Not even an Alliance pilot yet—just a stupid, too talented cadet with dreams too big for his breeches, stealing time in the showers at the Garrison because Shiro never did well with limitations…

Eventually the spell has to break, and Shiro scrubs down the rest of his body though he stares at the shower wall as he does it. The stream shuts off, and a burst of air rushes over him, leaving him mostly dry and smelling vaguely like honeydew. Shiro stands still, eyes wide and waiting, but the shower appears out of surprises. He gingerly steps out.

It is then Shiro realizes his problem. Although the shower had felt wonderful and left Shiro feeling settled back inside his body in a way he hadn’t realized he needed, he is now completely naked with nothing to wear except the torn prisoner uniform that he’d rather roast on a ten-foot pole than touch again. But that still leaves him in the same situation: naked and without an exact fondness for looking at his body either.

It takes five minutes of convincing himself that he really is alone for Shiro to leave the bathroom. He darts into one of the bedrooms, thinking he could use one of the dust covers at the very least, though the idea is unappealing. If he feels ridiculous ducking from room to room buck naked—Well, at least there isn’t anyone around to see.

But he finds a closet in the room he chooses and, surprisingly, clothes that might fit. Or perhaps not entirely surprising: the bipedal, two arms plus a head design is unexpectedly common in the universe. But there’s something oddly convenient about it all. Shiro takes a minute to consider getting suspicious and decides he doesn’t care. If decent clothes are what does him in, so be it. Shiro chooses a set of black pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and a vest because the shirt is almost indecent with how skin-tight it is. Okay, so the pants are a little tight too, but they’re well made riding pants with a good amount of give to them. Besides, Shiro wore tighter pants back on Earth.

Dressed and clean, the panic doesn’t linger quite so near Shiro’s skin. He feels almost like himself again, and when he notices the window in the bedroom, he doesn’t really think. He muscles the glass planes open and leverages his way out. Ledge, paneling, a gutter—Shiro picks his holds until he’s made it onto the roof. Underneath him, the House settles, and for a moment, Shiro swears it sounds like amused laughter.

Or maybe Shiro’s just going crazy.

He’s probably going crazy.

Shiro tries not to think about that. There’s a spectacular sunset going on. He settles back on his elbows and waits for the stars.

Apparently news spreads fast on TK7526-38. No one comes to visit him, but when Shiro makes his way back to town the next day, heads turn and whispers follow him. Apparently Nyma wasn’t joking about rumors surrounding the Lion House.

Or more likely, it’s just that he’s the new guy on an otherwise isolated planet. Shiro squares his shoulders and pretends it doesn’t bother him. He has a lot practice at being the new guy. He pretends his instincts to watch newcomers, to glare, and to hold his shoulders in a certain way, come from that. Not… whatever it is that’s telling him exactly how to hold his metal hand so it will light up at a moment’s notice. He’s being cautious because he’s on an unknown, dangerous planet, that’s all. It’s _normal_ to be wary.

No one seems to notice Shiro liable to jump out of his skin at the slightest movement, and he intends to keep it that way.

As time goes on, Shiro gets to know the other inhabitants of TK7526-38. There’s Luxia who runs a farm of karmiel, strange bear-like creatures that can been shorn like sheep. Pruig keeps a herd of scaly almost-camels that he milks like cows. Both of them have a time keeping the rhino-lizards away from their livestock and, on a tip-off from Rolo, are willing to hire Shiro for protection detail. Once rumors of Shiro’s skill start spreading, others ask for his help with dangerous wildlife as well, offering foodstuffs, supplies, and rides into town in return. The idea of being hired to kill leaves a sour taste in Shiro’s mouth, but he doesn’t have a whole lot of other options. He tries to ignore the way people stand just a little further away from him when his hand sizzles off the last of lizard blood, leaving it always, perfectly clean.

Not all the inhabitants are ranchers, however, though that isn’t necessarily a good thing. Thace and Ulaz are a Galra couple who deal in tech and medicine, and the first time Shiro saw them, his entire spine locked up. He very nearly lit his arm in a pre-emptive attack, but after that split second of insanity, it didn’t take him long to read the haunted look in their eyes and the pain in their scars. Whatever happened in their past, they aren’t the same kind of Galra who hurt him. Plaxum runs the bar with the doors that shocked Shiro on his first day. And Shiro can’t figure out what Lubos does besides watch alien soap-operas at Plaxum’s bar, but he has money and will pay unusually good sums for others to do things for him. Thork is the self-appointed sheriff of TK7526-38, which baffles Shiro because so far his impression of the laws on TK7526-38 is that there _aren’t_ any. But maybe that’s the point.

The people here aren’t overtly cruel, but they aren’t particularly likable either. And Shiro finds he’s developing a similar reputation. Which is _fine_. Really. He doesn’t need to be liked. As long as he’s seen as competent and not someone to take advantage of, he’s good.

During the day, at least.

But eventually the sun sets, whatever job he had for the day is finished, he can’t keep himself busy anymore, and he has to go back to the Lion House.

Not that he doesn’t like the Lion House. Because he honestly _does_. But when the rumor starts to circle around TK7526-39 that the Lion House is haunted by a new kind of monster, to the point of Luxia asking if he didn’t want to stay somewhere else, Shiro wants to laugh until he’s hysterical.

The Lion House does have a new kind of monster: that monster just happens to be Shiro himself.

Because Shiro _remembers_ now. It took several nights in a row, rushing out of his room to puke, but now he knows. He wasn’t just some prisoner; he was a _gladiator._ No wonder he’s so good at killing. One time he hears Thace say a word, “champion” and Shiro has to duck into a alley as memories crush over him— _arena—cheering from the stands—“Vrepit sa!”— “CHAMPION.”_

Shiro wakes up screaming more often than not. Most of his dreams drip out of his waking brain like water through sand, leaving nonsensical feelings of fear and horror and pain, but the dreams he _does_ remember are filled with unthinkable violence. He doesn’t know if the scenes are from his repressed memories or scenarios his subconscious comes up with, but it horrifies him either way. He’s terrified of the thoughts that are in his brain.

Many nights, Shiro has stayed up staring at his Galra-made hand. Still so sleek and pristine—and guilty of so many crimes. Once, he got angry enough to slam the lit fist into a wardrobe drawer. But the hand left a charred hole in the wood, and Shiro feels like he could feel the House hurting. After that, he replaces the paneling and finds different ways to direct his anger.

He’s not sleeping, though. At least, as little as possible. Instead, he spends hours haunting the House at night, fighting sleep and struggling to keep his grip on reality. It’s in the dead of night, when Shiro’s climbed onto the roof again, or lost the battle and found a dark corner to hide in, that Shiro feels the most hopeless. Sometimes it feels like his head is stuffed full of nothing but pain and violence, and they’re fighting to burst out of him. Shiro imagines his head cracked open from the inside, blood dripping over his torn face, down his neck, only to see _himself_ inside but with Galra yellow eyes and endless cackling laughter…

But dawn comes, and Shiro pulls himself together to reschedule the despair and fear and hopelessness for another night. It’s getting harder though. Every night that he’s curled over, attacked by his own mind, thinking this night, _this_ night is the one that never ends—it gets harder to remember why that isn’t true.

Shiro has a bad habit of hoarding food. It’s not something he remembers from before. In fact, Shiro was more likely to be trying to figure out how to make a meal out of three pickles and a battered box of macaroni and cheese because he’d forgotten to go grocery shopping than collect a stockpile. But now he can’t help himself. He doesn’t eat it. He just needs it _there._ And it’s not good enough to have it in the fridge-structure in the kitchen. Shiro squirrels away rations and water packets into crevices in his room, behind the couch in the living room, hidden in boxes and mess in the mudroom. Shiro tells himself that it’s stupid, it’s _unnecessary_ , but the dark bitter part of himself that seems to be having more and more of a say these days says he doesn’t _know_. Someone might take his food away and he needs—he _needs—_

There’s a barn next to the Lion House. It’s filled with junk and sand and boxes covered in canvas. Shiro is slowly making his way through it, on nights when he can’t sleep for the nightmares. It’s better than letting his mind tear itself apart in the dark. But he’s found a box that reminds of him a cooler, and Shiro’s been slowly filling it with nonperishables. If he fills this, he can pretend he’s just looking for extra storage instead of slowly going crazy. But he adds to it, or at least checks on it, every day.

Which is how he starts to notice things going missing.

The first time he realizes there are fewer ration bars inside than yesterday, black and angry claws tear at his stomach. Someone has taken his _food_. No one messes with Champion’s food. If he doesn’t retaliate, they’ll think he’s weak. He will _become_ weak and then he won’t be able to _fight_ —

Shiro realizes his hand is glowing. It takes real effort to turn it off. He breathes through his nose, trying to work through the anger boiling through his stomach. It’s just food. This is extra storage that he wasn’t planning on eating anyway.

The logic doesn’t work.

Shiro tries another direction. Most people stay clear of the Lion House and, Shiro is starting to suspect, of him as well. The most likely explanation is that an animal has gotten in. _That_ makes Shiro’s nose wrinkle, and he spends the next hour ensuring the packaging is still intact. Not all of the food he trusts but Shiro can’t bring himself to throw it out either (it’s still _edible_ ), so he moves it to a different box to keep it from contaminating the rest. He makes sure the both boxes are shut tight and weights down the lids with a crate of hover parts.

The next day, the cooler is untouched, but the food he removed to a different box has been scavenged. Shiro spends an afternoon animal proofing his food storage and then, because his paranoia won’t let him be, the next day he checks on the rest of his stashes.

One in the mudroom is missing.

Shiro stands in front of the laundry unit, staring at the gap between it and the wall where until today there had been three _giuva_ fruits. Overripe maybe but not reeking yet so still edible. Or they _were_ before someone took them. Shiro fights back a combination of anger and fear. He’s been relying on the Lion House to keep him safe. For some reason, the House unsettles everyone else and keeps them at a distance. And so far, it had worked, but something has punched through that protection and Shiro feels naked and raw. Perhaps it was stupid to assume anything as easy as an abandoned house could keep him safe. Shiro moves all his food to new hiding places and sleeps (or doesn’t) in the kitchen while he plans.

His first matter of business is to shore up the windows and doors. The Lion House is in surprisingly good condition considering no one has lived in it in living memory. Frankly, the whole House feels oddly out of step with the rough-and-tumble survivor mode of the rest of the planet, and Shiro wonders who could possibly have lived here before. But still, the House isn’t immune to weather and there’s work to be done. He fills in gaps in the windowsills, replaces crumbling molding, and fixes the latches on the doors.

From the Lion House, Shiro moves into the barn. He’s working late one night because he’s woken up from one of those dreams where he can’t remember the details except horror and pain and he’s not sure he still fits inside his body anymore. The work doesn’t cure the nightmares, but at least it stops his waking moments from giving him nightmares as well. He runs his natural hand along the walls, feeling for any holes or weaknesses. The twin moons of the planet on are in the new phase, and there’s little light to see by. But if Shiro focuses very, very hard on his surroundings, he can remember where he is and doesn’t have to see anything _else_.

And so he hears it when a box is quietly shifted.

The sound nearly makes him jump, and Shiro catches himself just in time. No point in giving away his presence yet. He creeps silently across the loft and peers down, though part of him already suspects what he will see.

Someone is getting into his food.

Anger ignites hot in his chest. His arm hums to life, and the small figure raiding his storage snaps up. There’s a split second while Shiro tries to make out features in their face, and then the figure has ducked and is sprinting away as if his life depends on it.

Not actually a bad assumption, considering it’s Shiro.

Trying to beat back the self-loathing that comes with that, Shiro drops down from the loft and approaches the cooler. He’d only gotten a glimpse of that face, but in that split second, the thief had looked…human _._

And _young_.

Shiro’s hand is still glowing, and the light falls over something that wasn’t there before. After a minute, he realizes it’s an old fashioned lock picking set. The kid must have dropped it when they ran.

Shiro turns the lock picks in his hand. And slowly…a plan begins to form.

Thing is, Shiro is only bothered by people disturbing his food if it’s _his_ food. He has no problem giving food away if he’s consciously doing it. Shiro thinks this over as he helps Pruig corral his herd. The kid is young and small. He’s stealing food rather than asking, which to Shiro suggests he’s alone—and likely has been for a long time. He ran as soon as he spotted Shiro, so they aren’t going to have a conversation anytime soon. Shiro’s guessing, but he doubts this kid trusts easily. None of this deters him. In fact, it gives him a tiny spark of a thrill.

Shiro has always liked a challenge.

The key is not too much at once. Shiro leaves the lock picks on the box the kid was raiding and changes nothing else. The next day they’re gone (along with one of Shiro’s ration bars—Shiro almost feels bad: those things are blander than Garrison MREs), and the hover parts on top are _almost_ in the same arrangement as Shiro left them. Shiro lets them be and works on creating more stashes in the barn. He doesn’t spot his scavenger again, but slowly he finds more of his food missing. It’s well done, too: the kid only steals a little from each stash so that if Shiro weren’t watching closely, he wouldn’t notice it was going missing. Shiro feels a surge of pride: his kid is _smart_.

Well, maybe not _his_ kid, but Shiro’s feeding him off the leftovers of whatever he earns working in the field, so Shiro figures he can claim him at least a little. On a few occasions, Shiro catches glimpses of dark hair and bony shoulders. He notices the kid is _skinny_ , which…well, duh. Shiro starts putting more thought into food he’s giving out. Lots of proteins and fats. He’s almost tempted to leave out a plate with a main dish and two sides complete with utensils and a centerpiece, but he’s pretty sure that would scare the kid away.

Also, Shiro’s not that good of a cook.

That’s okay. Shiro can be patient. It’s not like he has anything else to focus on (or rather, that he _wants_ to focus on). He slowly becomes more obvious about what he’s leaving out. The first time he leaves food just sitting around instead of tucked away in a box, it takes three days to disappear. Shiro isn’t sure if the kid was elsewhere or just waiting to make sure the food was safe to take. Either way, Shiro breathes huge sigh of relief when he finally sees it’s gone.

(Shiro can be patient, but he _worries._ The kid is so small and skinny. Does he have any other food source? Where does he sleep? What if the rhino-lizards find him? What if he gets _sick_? What if one day he never comes back and how will Shiro make sure he’s all right?)

To give himself something to do beside worry about the kid whose name he doesn’t even know, Shiro has started repairing the Galra shuttle he crash-landed. Rolo and Nyma agreed to tow it to the Lion House, and Shiro did some spot-welding with his arm in return for the parts he needs. The ship will never be pretty and Shiro’s not really a mechanic, but he _is_ trained to be a deep space test pilot. If it can get off the ground, Shiro can fly it.

And after about a month of working on it, it’s finally ready. Shiro can hardly wait get back in space—so he doesn’t. He should be worried about the cold and terrifying death awaiting him if the repairs he’s made to the vacuum seal don’t hold, but Shiro doesn’t _care_. He can’t remember that last time he was grounded for this long, even on Earth. He can’t stand it anymore. As soon as the last part is installed, Shiro jumps into the pilot seat and shoves the sticks to _go._

The engines start with a deep growl. The craft launches, calculations and status reports scroll over the screens in Galran along with a whine-like hum.

And Shiro _remembers_.

It’s not a flashback or anything so concrete, just the feeling that all of this is _familiar._ There’s a particular smell to Galra ships in space that Shiro hadn’t realized he knew, but he does and it’s here, _he’s_ here, he’s back and they’re going to take him again—

Vaguely, Shiro realizes he’s alone on ship that’s rocketing toward space, uncontrolled while its only pilot curls in on himself in panic. But it doesn’t feel real. It’s like he’s seeing two realities at once. In one, he’s alone and this isn’t the same ship that took him, but in another he can almost see the Galra officer who shot his crew for—Why? He still doesn’t understand. He’s crying, begging to be anywhere but here, looking through that purple-tinted view screen at the expanse of—

Shiro realizes where that thought is going and is filled with a new kind of horror. And then _rage_.

No, he thinks—pleads, begs, rages— _No._ The Galra have taken his home, his crew, his humanity and his arm, but they cannot—Shiro _will_ not let them take away his love for the stars. This is _his_ , dammit. Shiro is a _pilot._

Shiro grips the sticks and strains to focus on the present. He concentrates on his breathing. _In. Hold. Out._ Keep the pattern no matter how much his body screams at him to deviate. _Focus._ Shiro swipes away the screens so that he is left only the visuals and his own deep space instincts to guide him, but that’s fine. Shiro had trained for every possibility working for the Alliance. Better than that, he’s just _good_ at this. Deep space is where Shiro knows what he needs to do. There’s a swap moon at the edge of this system, and Shiro is mentally visualizing the planets and moons along the way and charting out his course as he sets the engines for hyperdrive.

The Galra cannot have this. Space is _his._

It takes more concentration than it ever has before, but as he flies, the purple flickering at the edges of his vision is kept at bay and Shiro settles into himself. This…this is the work that he knows. He’s been training as a pilot since he was old enough to get into the Garrison. Reading the stars, checking the dials, making corrections to his course—it’s all ingrained into his very being. If he can ignore the smell and the sounds and glowing purple highlights on the dashboard, he’s a pilot charting new courses through space again, and he’s _okay._

By the time he lands, something had shifted. Shiro might be stuck on an unfamiliar planet in the boonies of the universe, missing an arm, and changed almost beyond recognition, but he can _fly_.

Feeling more himself than he has in ages, Shiro actually enjoys the swap moon. He only has a small handful of GAC that he’s built up working on TK7526-38, and he isn’t eager to part with it. But he enjoys looking over the various wares, even if it’s just window shopping.

But then something catches his eye.

Shiro tells himself he doesn’t need it and to just walk away, but his feet take him in the opposite direction. It’s a jacket and even from a distance, Shiro can tell it isn’t going to fit him. Not with his shoulders. But he’s still drawn in. The jacket is bright red with white racing stripes, a solid heavy leather. Oh, and there are a set of red and white riding boots to go with it. Shiro is hit with a wave of nostalgia. Teenaged Shiro would have _killed_ for that jacket and then worn it incessantly like the obnoxious punk that he was. The boots would have just sold the look. Thank goodness he was living with his mother again by that point and had someone to put a stop to that nonsense.

And then Shiro thinks of another young teenager he knows, and his grin widens.

Turns out, the first word Shiro hears his kid say is “fuck.”

Well, no. That’s not entirely correct, but that’s the general gist of it.

It’s in the wee hours of the morning, when one of the planets’ moons has already set so the ground is stained with a faint blue half-light. Shiro’s been up for over an hour at this point and only barely starting to settle back into himself. His dreams had taken him somewhere new tonight, and he had been forced to watch as he killed dozens upon dozens in the gladiator arena. This time people that he knows. He attacks them and cuts them down even as they plead for him to remember them, blood bubbling up on their lips. Friends from Earth, instructors from the Garrison, his own _mother_ —and others he doesn’t remember but feels like he _should_ and those are worse. Because he might actually have killed them. There very well may have been prisoners literally begging him to spare their lives, and he still went through with it. As it is, Shiro has to remind himself that his mother was dead before he left Earth, it was an illness, _he went to her funeral_ , and he still has a hard time believing he didn’t kill her.

Of course _this_ dream is the one he remembers.

(It occurs to him that the nightmares that he _can’t_ remember could be just as bad or worse. That doesn’t make him feel better.)

After vomiting until it feels like his stomach has been burned with acid, Shiro makes his way, weak and shaking, to the porch of the Lion House where he can feel the wind on his skin, hear the creaking of the old house, and let the tear tracks dry salty on his cheeks. He breathes and counts his breaths and just tries to deal with the fact that he _exists._

And it’s like that, hidden in a corner of the porch, trying to bring himself back into the world of the living, that he hears his kid’s first words.

“What the fuck?”

Shiro blinks in surprise. Universal translators normally don’t translate slang or swear words, which means it’s been a long time since Shiro’s heard any he recognizes. It also means the kid is speaking _English_.

Shiro gets up from his spot and slowly creeps towards the voice. It comes again, slower and more enunciated.

“…The _fuck._ ”

The kid doesn’t sound angry. In fact, if Shiro were to put his finger on it, he’d say the kid sounds confused and incredibly annoyed about that.

It’s kind of charming.

Shiro creeps closer and—oh yes, there are the boots and jacket he’s grabbed from the swap moon that he left out before he went to bed. The kid has a box of biscuits under one arm (also left out by Shiro earlier) and is standing over the gifted clothing as if it is were both perplexing and incredibly likely to bite him if he makes the wrong move.

Shiro weighs his options, but it’s nearing four in the morning, his emotional scale is completely out of whack and apparently his rationality is following suit, so he finds himself throwing caution out the window and just goes for it.

“Hey.”

The kid jumps. He whips around, and he has a knife buckled into his belt at the back but he must get mixed around because what he ends up doing is holding out the box of biscuits. Shiro raises his eyebrows. A single knife is hardly a threat against Champion-who-is-Shiro and a box of biscuits even less, but Shiro is willing to give the kid the benefit of the doubt.

Thing is, Shiro recognizes those panicked eyes and that tense posture, and though none of it remotely scares him, he knows enough to respect it. So he walks around the kid, keeping him at arms length as if he really would be worried about the kid attacking him, and makes sure he’s in a position where the kid still has a way out.

Shiro sticks his hands in his pockets and gestures to the clothes with his chin. “So, you gonna take them?”

The kid drops the hand with the box of biscuits, but he doesn’t look any happier. His shoulders bristle up like a cat trying to make itself look bigger. “You left them out,” he accuses.

“Yeah, sure,” agrees Shiro easily. “It’s not like they’re going to fit me.”

The boots _maybe_. If Shiro were willing to deal with his toes rammed into the end. The jacket not at all.

The kid rocks back on his heels. He’s really more of a very skinny teenager, maybe fifteen or sixteen, Shiro should stop thinking of him as a kid. But he looks so _young_ and apparently Shiro’s passed on to that phase of life where anyone younger than him looks like a child.

"You’re pretty much asking for them to be taken,” says the kid.

“Kinda the point,” says Shiro, and the kid just scowls. Shiro has to give him credit for being upfront. He hasn’t made up any excuse about ‘lost’ or ‘just looking’ or let Shiro put any of the blame on him at all. Shiro likes him already.

“I’m Shiro,” he offers while the kid is still pointing a scowl at Shiro’s kneecaps. “Do I get to know who you are?”

The kid clutches his box of biscuits close to his chest. “Why do you want to know?”

Shiro shrugs. “If someone’s going to be stealing my food, I’d like to at least know their name.”

The kid eyes Shiro suspiciously. He has big, dark eyes that dart around, taking in the Lion House.

“You really are crazy, aren’t you?” he says finally.

 _That_ feels uncomfortably close to the truth, though not in the way kid thinks. Shiro forces himself to seem casual and calm.

“Well, the other option seems to be throwing a fit about it and that seems like kind of a waste of energy, don’t you think?”

There’s a long pause. And then, so quiet his lips hardly move: “Keith.”

“Keith?” repeats Shiro. He smiles and holds out his hand, but the kid only stares at it so Shiro drops it. “It’s nice to meet you, Keith.”

The kid—Keith—is really staring at Shiro now. He seems to have moved past suspicion onto utter confusion. His body language is closed off, but Shiro can see something build behind his eyes.

“Why,” says Keith flatly.

Shiro is about to explain social niceties from Earth when he notices Keith glancing at the clothes. He smiles.

“Desert nights get cold,” he says. “And you’re skinny.”

Keith’s face goes through a massive range of expressions. “I’m not _that_ skinny.”

“Kiddo, you’re stealing my leftovers.”

Something complicated flashes across Keith’s face and for a second Shiro’s afraid he’s made a mistake, but then Keith hunches his shoulders in and meets Shiro’s eyes. Very deliberately, as if daring Shiro stop him, he picks up the jacket and boots. Still maintaining eye contact, he walks backwards until he’s made it to the edge of the porch, and then he jumps off and starts running.

Shiro lets him. He leans back against the wall of the house and is surprised to find himself grinning.

He has a _name_.

From there on, their relationship changes. Shiro no longer hides the food and supplies for Keith but leaves them out in neat little arrangements. At first, they just disappear like before, but a week later Shiro finds the rusted hinges on the food box for swing smoothly. He experimentally maneuvers the lid open and closed. It could just be the House (it’s not the first time something mysteriously just _happened_ ). But part of him wonders. Shiro keeps leaving out what he can, trying to squash down the part of that won’t stop hoping ( _Kindness won’t be rewarded_ , whispers a tiny voice in his head. _You’ll only get yourself hurt_ , it hisses. _That_ Shiro stomps out with all the ferocity he can muster. If he believes that, he isn’t worth living).

And then one morning, Shiro steps out his front door to find a rock placed deliberately in the center of the worn and sun-bleached welcome mat. It’s deep red, with alternating patterns of dark and light, which, when Shiro picks it up, he to delighted realize aren’t random—they’re _fossils._ The rock is smooth and polished like a pebble in a riverbed, and somehow Shiro doesn’t think it’s the kind of thing you came across on this forsaken planet.

Warmth blooms in Shiro’s chest. He clutchs the rock close and hardly dares put words to what he’s feeling, instead just basking in the thought that he has a gift that is beautiful and thoughtful and maybe for a moment he’s not quite so _alone_.

Shiro carefully places the rock on the windowsill in the kitchen where the sunlight can hit it. In coming days, he feels a little kick in his chest every time he sees the red shadow spread across the counter. It’s more precious to him than anything he’s found or claimed since landing on this planet. A tiny beacon of beauty when all too often Shiro’s world only feels dark. He wonders if Keith has any idea how much it means to him. Probably not. People normally matter more to Shiro than he does to them. The gift is precious anyway.

They don’t run into each other again, but they have a little bit of a rhythm now. Shiro keeps leaving out food and essentials, and Keith leaves trinkets or small repairs or scavenged parts that Shiro can use in return. Shiro takes a chance and scribbles out a message—if Keith speaks English, there’s at least a chance he can read it. If Shiro’s handwriting with his Galra hand is even legible. 

_Thanks for the rock._

Shiro frowns at the wording. It sounds too trite. Should he add a smiley face? But that seems childish. A heart would just be inappropriate. In the end, Shiro goes with a rough sketch of a stick figure, arms up and smile awkwardly squished inside its face. It’s clumsy and lopsided, but it’s not like Shiro’s ever been much of an artist even before he lost his dominant hand, so finally he just lets it be.

And that evening when he comes home, there’s sharp, spikey handwriting on the note beneath his.

_Thanks for the food._

There’s a second sheet of paper, and on it is a sketch—of one of the distinctive sandstone cliffs of the planet. The lines are rapid and loose, but the image they create feels _real_. Shiro’s breath catches in his throat. It’s incredible.

Shiro’s still staring at the sketch, marveling at the sense of movement captured in the still lines when he walks into the Lion House, so he is entirely unprepared for the loud _snap!_ of a cupboard door shutting. Shiro drops the sketch, snapping into a fighting stance, hand already glowing.

“Um.”

Keith is frozen beside the fridge (and that’s—No. It’s okay, it’s _okay_ ), staring at Shiro with wide eyes.

It takes Shiro too long to process where he is and what is happening. “Keith,” he manages, but his body still wouldn’t relax out of the fighting stance.

Keith’s eyes are focused on Shiro’s hand and—

What is Shiro _doing_?

Shiro forces his hand to disengage. _Focus._ Don’t scare the kid. “Sorry. You startled me.”

“Oh,” says Keith. He stares at the floor. Shiro needs to _fix this_.

He strides into the kitchen as casually as he can while his heart is still beating too fast. “Want dinner?”

Keith stares. “What?”

“You’re raiding my fridge,” Shiro points out. “If I’m eating, you might as well eat too.”

Keith straightens slowly. He hovers a few feet back while Shiro prepares dinner. It’s nothing fancy—just a premade meal, freeze-dried, not unlike food prepared for Garrison deep space missions actually. Shiro adds boiling water and divides the resulting mush into two bowls. The Lion House has a kitchen table but it strikes Shiro as creepy with just the two them, so he hands a bowl to Keith and leads them outside.

They sit on the porch, legs dangling over the edge. Shiro notices Keith is wearing the jacket and boots he gave him.

“So you draw?” says Shiro after a long stretch of quiet.

Keith is carefully scraping the last bits out of his bowl. He shrugs. “Some. When I have the stuff. Or the time.”

“That hard to find?”

“Kinda,” says Keith. He chews on his words and seems surprised that when he looks up Shiro is still there, waiting patiently. “Just… sometimes I don’t want to sit still for it, you know?”

Shiro hides a smile. The ability to sit still, or just _wait,_ at all, for anything, had been a hard lesson for young Shiro. He had been all impatience and brash confidence as a kid, even his apparent focus coming from the insistent drive to get to the stars— _now_. He eventually learned patience, but only as a tool to get him where he wanted. Sitting down for just art… Honestly, he admires the kid. Just the idea fills him with restlessness. It doesn’t really surprise him that the kid outclasses him, though. There’s just something about Keith; Shiro feels like he’s known it since the first time he laid eyes on him.

“You’re really good,” offers Shiro.

Keith ducks his head. “Um. Thanks, I guess.”

Shiro smiles. “Not used to getting compliments?”

“Most people seem annoyed I’m around actually.”

Shiro’s heart aches. But Keith won’t appreciate him pointing that out. “I’ve been there,” he says instead.

“Oh.” Keith doesn’t say anything else. It seems quiet is the default for Keith, and Shiro doesn’t push. Keith spends some time scraping his spoon inside his bowl before abruptly setting it down and standing up. “Um, thanks for dinner. I should—do something. Go.”

“You’re welcome to stay,” offers Shiro.

Keith’s eyes dart around, quick and panicked.

“Or, of course, you’re welcome to leave if you want,” adds Shiro easily, biting back disappointment. It was more of a hope than anything. “There’s no obligation,” he assures. “But I’m not annoyed by having you around.”

“Oh,” says Keith again. He shifts his weight uncomfortably. Shiro can practically read _This is too much for me and I’m overwhelmed_ across his face.

“You’re free to go. I don’t mind,” says Shiro. “But just know you’re welcome back here anytime.”

“Okay. Um. Thanks. Again.” Keith rocks back on his heels. “I’m going to—”

Shiro smiles. “Go ahead.”

Keith nods once and takes off. But he stops at the edge of the Lion House and looks back. Shiro sends him a smile and almost gets one back. Then Keith ducks his head and takes off.

Shiro’s finds Keith’s abandoned bag in the kitchen later. He fills it with anything practical he can think of and leaves it in the mudroom for Keith to find.  
  


And then Keith isn’t the only one giving gifts.

Shiro finds the keys—okay, they’re actually access fobs but they function the same as car keys on Earth and it’s not like there’s anyone around to correct Shiro—on his nightstand. They’re black and silver, about four inches long and the width of his finger, and as impossible as it seems, Shiro _swears_ they were never there before. Last night was a particularly bad one. Shiro would have noticed if anyone came in.

But the keys sit in his hand and if he listens right, he can almost imagine he hears the House humming. Anticipation mixed with amusement.

Shiro spends the morning searching. He’s spent physically and emotionally from last night, and the night before that wasn’t good either, so he’s ragged by day but the idea of sleeping almost makes him sick. He’ll just power though it and hope that by the end he’ll finally be exhausted enough to just crash.

He ends up in the barn. He still has no clue what the keys go to, but the House keeps pushing at him. Shiro swears he’s at least glanced through all the boxes at this point, but this time he notices a slit in the flooring. Shiro follows it, moving boxes until he has a large rectangle cleared off. And then—was that button always present on the post in the wall? Shiro presses and it flashes red once and then goes dull again. Shiro considers and then pulls out the keys. He presses one fob to the button.

It glows blue.

And then something starts rumbling.

Shiro gets out of the way just in time for the ground to open up. There’s a lot of groaning and creaking as the floor splits into two, each side retracting into the floor while something rises from below. And it’s—

Shiro’s breath catches.

No _way_. It’s—it’s—

The grinding shudders to a halt, and the barn goes still again as if it were never anything different. And sitting in the middle, like a vision straight out of his teenage dreams, is the most beautiful hover Shiro has ever seen.

It’s jet-black and gleaming, with sleek lines, a narrow nose and two massive turbines in the back. The thing clearly made for speed, maneuverability, and _power._ Shiro’s hand is shaking as he brushes his fingers along the handlebars and then over long leather seat. This can’t be real.

There’s a slot between the handlebars. Shiro examines the shape, considering.

The key slides in with a faint click, and the hover lights up, bright lines glowing in purple, but bluer and brighter than the Galra, closer to the ultraviolet of blacklights. Shiro’s never been one to fall in love easily, but he may have just found his exception. He climbs on, toggling the controls until he gets a feel for them.

The engines start with a hum and a deep purr that vibrates through his soul. Shiro still hasn’t figured out all the controls—but hey, he’s always been good at improving on the fly. He nudges the throttle—

And the hover _launches_ out of the barn.

Shiro narrowly avoids taking the doors out. It takes him a moment to realize that the racing of his heart isn’t panic. It’s delight. He opens the throttle, all caution thrown to the winds, determined to find what exactly this is thing is capable of.

The answer is practically anything.

The hover flies like everything Shiro has ever dreamed of and none of the Garrison test craft never quite lived up to. It has power—more power than seems possible—and speed and hair-trigger controls, a combination that could spell disaster for a lesser pilot. But not Shiro. It’s a challenge, and Shiro revels in it. He throws the hover into the depths of the desert, weaving through needles, flying over slot canyons, and making hairpin turns with his head nearly level with the ground. The hover is capable of more than any craft Shiro has flown before, and Shiro is only beginning to uncover it all.

It’s wonderful though. Shiro can’t remember the last time he was this happy. The Galra ship is like canned air. He needs it and it’s a lifeline—anything to get off the ground and into the stars. But this—this is pure, reckless oxygen.

And then he spots a speck of red out of the corner of his eye. Without anything resembling speed limits, Shiro has been pushing the hover as fast as it will go. There’s no time to stop. Shiro swerves up the canyon wall so that he is launched over instead into. For one split second he meets Keith’s wide startled eyes as he flies over him, and then he’s gone, left behind with the settling dust. Shiro hesitates barely a second before he swings the hover around again, backtracking at a much more reasonable speed.

Keith is climbing out from behind a boulder where he ducked for safety. Shiro spots a scattering of possessions in the cavity between the boulder and the canyon wall, but most his attention is on Keith himself. Shiro skids the hover to a stop in front of him, belatedly remembering that the average person’s response to his flying is disbelief and horror.

“Hey,” he says casually, unable to hold back his bursting smile.

Keith edges closer, his eyes nearly big enough to fall out of his head. But that’s not fear on his face—it’s awe.

“How did you _do_ that?”

Shiro’s still riding the high of flying a hover again. So perhaps that’s why instead of doing anything sensible, he holds his hand out. “Want to come with?”

Keith hesitates only a moment. Then he nods vigorously. Shiro beams, reaching over to zip up that red riding jacket (it delights him that Keith’s still wearing it), and helping Keith scramble onto the hover behind him. Keith settles too far back, so Shiro grabs his arm and drags him forward.

“Hold onto me,” he says. “Ever ridden a hover before?”

“Yeah,” comes Keith’s voice muffled against his back. A pause, then: “Not like this.”

Shiro laughs. “All right then. Just lean when I lean. Try to think of aligning your spine with mine.” Shiro notices Keith’s hands are barely brushing his waist and adds, “You’re going to have to hold on tighter than that.”

Keith barely increases his pressure.

Eh, he’ll learn. Shiro leans over the handles. “Ready?” he says, already grinning in anticipation. “Let’s go!” 

And they launch like a rocket. Keith yelps and _actually_ holds onto Shiro’s waist. But when Shiro whips them around a corner and down the next canyon wall, Keith cheers and yeah, that’s a good sign.

Shiro isn’t flying quite as hard anymore. For one thing, he’s not sure how Keith will take it. But more importantly, he still doesn’t know the full capabilities of the machine, and he doesn’t want to test its limitations when there’s a possibility Keith could get hurt. It’s a different kind of flying, testing new tricks mildly to see how Keith will take them, but it soon becomes clear that Keith has no fear. Keith adjusts easily to the movement needed to throw the hover into turns and yells—and then _whoops_ when Shiro throws them off a cliff, engaging the engines at the last minute to send them careening across the barren desert.

“Can we do that again?” he yells, and Shiro laughs.

Sometime later, Shiro pulls them to a stop on top of a mesa to check on Keith and to give them a chance to shake feeling back into their legs. Keith clambers off and immediately stumbles, unprepared for the case of jelly legs. Shiro catches him by the arm and is surprised when instead of shrugging him off, Keith collapses against the hover next to him.

“Where did you learn to fly like that?” he asks, for once the guarded expression gone from his face, replaced instead with admiration.

Shiro tries not to preen. He has never been one to let his skills go to his head (or, at least, he has tried not to be), but lately all anyone has been as been interested in is his ability to fight. It’s nice to be admired for something he is actually proud of.

Oh, who is he kidding, Keith’s look of awed wonder would always have kicked something in his chest.

But Keith is still waiting for an answer, so Shiro smiles.

“I was trained as a pilot,” he begins. He continues with a wry smile. “But really, most of that was learned by crashing hovers in the desert until I learned their limits.”

Keith tilts his head as if the idea of crashing doesn’t concern him which—he’s in his teens. It probably doesn’t.

“You’re from Earth?” says Keith.

“Yes.” Shiro exhales. “Or, well, I was. You?”

Keith shakes his head. “No, I’m not.” Quieter, then, “My dad was.”

Shiro notices the past tense but doesn’t comment. He considers the kid in front of him and what he’s seen so far.

“Want to give it a shot?”

Keith’s eye pop wide. “Flying?”

“Sure,” grins Shiro. “Ever flown a hover before?”

“I know how to fly,” intones Keith immediately, full of teenaged pride. After a moment, he adds, “Not like you though.”

Shiro hides his smile. _No one_ has been able to fly like Shiro, but he’ll keep that to himself for now. Instead he helps Keith get settled, braces himself behind him so that he won’t squash the smaller kid, and lets Keith go for it.

And to Shiro’s astonishment, Keith is possibly the one person who _could_. Keith’s clearly untrained, but the instincts are there, combined with lighting fast reflexes and absolutely no fear. If they were at the Garrison, he would probably be smashing Shiro’s records in just a few years. The thought doesn’t make Shiro jealous—he’s _excited_. Rather than coaching, he sits back and lets Keith figure it out, only intervening when there’s a possibility of harming the hover. (If they get thrown a few times, Shiro just considers that part of the learning process, but the hover is to be _respected_.)

The sun is low in the sky, casting everything in long red shadows, when Shiro taps Keith on the shoulder.

“I think it’s time to call it.”

“But we only just started!” protests Keith.

Shiro laughs and points at the setting sun. “What time do you think it is, buddy?”

Keith follows Shiro’s finger and Shiro sees his shoulders come down. “Oh.”

“Scooch over. I’ll fly us back.”

“I can fly us!” protests Keith immediately.

Keith’s reluctance nearly makes Shiro laugh again. But Shiro has a point he’s getting at, so instead of arguing, he leans back on his hands and simply asks, “How do we get back?”

Keith looks around, and it quickly becomes apparent he completely forgot about keeping track of where they were. Shiro did the same thing when he was a kid. He smiles now.

“Let me get us there. Besides, it’s getting dark and I would prefer you have a bit more experience before you fly this thing at night. But we can do this again, okay? I promise.”

Keith tilts his head. “You’d want to?” he says, incredulous.

“Hey, I enjoy this too.”

Emotions flash rapid fire across Keith’s face, but he concedes after that.

Shiro takes the easy route back. Partly out of consideration for the growing dark, but also because as exciting as the adrenaline is, there’s something about a smooth, peaceful ride without complications. It’s not until they pull up to the Lion House that Keith speaks up.

“But this is your house.”

“Yeah?” says Shiro as he guides the hover into the barn. “You have somewhere else you need to be?”

Keith gets off and shuffles his feet. “No, but…” He chews on his bottom lip.

“Look, I haven’t eaten anything all day, and I’m starving. Are you sure we can’t have this argument over dinner?”

Keith squints at him through his bangs. “Isn’t hydration and all that crap supposed to be important?” he says like Shiro is trying to pull a fast one on him with his lack of self-care and Keith is judging him for it.

Man, this kid. 

Shiro pulls himself straight. “Yes, it is,” he says with dignity. “Which is why I am going to take care of that right now. You coming?”  
  


They make another one of the freeze-dried meals and eat on the porch again. It’s quiet until Keith breaks the silence with, “But how did you do that cliff thing?” Keith mimes flying over the cliff and shooting forward on the pocket of air.

And Shiro grins and explains. From there, they spend the rest of dinner and into the evening with Keith peppering him with piloting questions and Shiro answering. Shiro hasn’t talked this much in…he doesn’t know how long. Somehow, Keith has become the exception to his paranoia that everyone is a threat. Keith for his part turns out to be plenty talkative when it’s something he is interested in. He keeps asking questions even as he’s yawning every two minutes and his eyes start fluttering closed. Finally, Shiro puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Keith, you’re falling asleep.”

Keith blinks sleepily at him and then up at the stars breaking out in the night sky. He starts to shift. “I should…”

He’s clearly angling to leave. Shiro’s chest goes cold at the thought of it.

“Stay here,” he says. “It’s late and this House is too big for one person anyway.”

Keith’s eyes cut sideways at the house. “Isn’t the Lion House kind of…haunted?”

“Honestly?” says Shiro. “I think it’s just lonely. It’ll be fine as long as you respect it.”

Keith frowns at him. “You’re weird,” he says finally.

“And?” says Shiro.

“…and I guess I could stay. If you want.”

It feels like the stars just got a whole lot brighter.

Clearly, Keith had intended to be gone by the time Shiro got up, but Keith has severely underestimated the depth of Shiro’s insomnia. The sun is barely peaking over horizon when Keith gets up and Shiro is already in the kitchen, nursing his space coffee. (It’s not actually coffee at all. In fact, it tastes mostly like ground up dirt, but if Shiro tells himself it’s coffee, maybe the placebo effect will kick in and give him the energy.)

“Hey,” says Shiro as Keith is clearly trying to slip out the door with him none the wiser. Keith jumps and freezes at the sight of him. Shiro pretends he doesn’t notice. “I’m helping Luxia with her karmiels today.” He tries to remain casual as he drops his line. “If you come with, you could fly the hover again.”

And Keith freezes. He doesn’t say anything, but Shiro can practically _feel_ his anticipation.

Shiro pats the kitchen table. “Eat breakfast. We’ll leave in an hour.”

And it works. They don’t discuss the future, but Keith crashes on the couch again that night. He’s gone the next, but he catches dinner a day later. Shiro’s heart soars when he comes home to find Keith’s red boots lined up in the mudroom. When he doesn’t have other engagements, Shiro takes Keith flying two more times and when they come home in the evenings, Keith takes his place on the couch. For the first time since escaping the Galra, Shiro sleeps without nightmares.

So, of course, that kind of luck is just waiting to run out.

Shiro wakes up, drenched in sweat, heart pounding, and throat raw. He kicks his way out of the covers tangled around his waist, falling out of bed, and curling around himself as phantom pains shoot through his arm. He doesn’t know what he was dreaming of, but something is bubbling up in his psyche, something that feels worse even than the scraps of memories he can recall from the arena. He’s shivering violently with chills and phantom pain. Please no. Not here. Please not here—

Something creaks and Shiro shrinks further in on himself.

“ _No. No. Nononononono_.”

“…iro?”

Shiro grabs the nearest thing to him and throws it, but the person approaching him doesn’t back off. They start talking.

“Hey. It’s me. Uh, the kid you keep talking to? You let me sleep on your couch. I’m not going to—whatever. Can you hear me? Shiro?”

Shiro lifts his head. The gloom doesn’t look as purple as he expected and crouched in front of him, his cowlicks a mess, is Keith.

“Where…?” Shiro’s voice rasps in his throat. “Where am I?”

“On the floor,” supplies Keith.

Shiro blinks, taking in the dark paneling, the ruined sheets, his sweat-soaked pajamas, and slowly it comes back: TK7526-38. The Lion House. _Keith_.

Shiro’s hand shakes like he’s been running a marathon as he brings it to his face. “I’m sorry. I woke you up. Sorry.”

"Forget it,” says Keith. “I was awake anyway.”

“Sorry,” repeats Shiro on autopilot.

“That’s not—!” Keith breaks off, sounding frustrated. He tugs at the sleeves on his shirt. “Shiro, are you okay?”

Shiro feels like there’s a hot coal lodged in his chest, but he swallows that. “I’m fine,” he says.

His throat burns with only those two words. How long was he screaming?

How much had Keith _heard_?

Poor Keith clearly has no idea what to do. His eyes glitter as they dart around in the dark. “Um, I’m going to…” Keith trails off with an aborted, awkward gesture.

And then he leaves.

Shiro collapses under the well of misery that floods over him. His hands come up, digging in the hairs of his scalp, deep enough to draw blood. After all that time and effort, being so careful to get Keith to trust him, and now Shiro’s gone and ruined it because he’s defective—he’s _broken_ and what did he think he was doing, why couldn’t he just keep that under control? But of course he couldn’t, he’s a weapon, a _monster_ , and now he’s lost his only chance—his _friend_ —

There’s a soft ‘ _chink’_ and Shiro jumps.

“No, Shiro. Just—just look.”

There’s a glass maybe two feet away from him, and Keith is crouched behind it.

“It’s water,” says Keith. He uses one finger to push the glass towards Shiro. “It’s for you.”

More on autopilot than anything, Shiro picks up the glass. His hand is shaking too badly to drink, so he just holds it. He doesn’t know where to go from here.

Surprisingly, Keith breaks the silence. “You’ve been through some shit, haven’t you?”

And Shiro laughs, bitter and humorless. “What gave it away?”

“It’s okay,” says Keith. “I’ve been through some shit, too.” He bites his lip. “Kinda. Not like you.” His eyes dart to Shiro under his bangs. “Were you really a Galra gladiator?”

Shiro wants to deny the stupid rumor, but well…it’s true. And Keith has the right now to know he’s sleeping under the same roof as a killer. Swallowing down the shame burning his throat, Shiro nods.

“Oh,” says Keith. “That’s…people aren’t really supposed to survive that, you know?”

Shiro knows. Shiro’s the reason so many didn’t.

Keith shifts awkwardly, moving out of his crouch to a more relaxed position with one of his legs pulled up. Shiro himself is still curled into a ball (protecting his stomach), but he can’t even muster up the energy to relax. Instead he remains balled up, waiting for Keith to pass his silent judgment.

Keith sets his chin on his knee. “It’s just…” he begins. “Most people here aren’t that nice. And you’re someone everybody listens to. Or at least knows better than to mess with. But you didn’t get mad at me when I was stealing your stuff. Then you kept being nice and helping me out. You could have just treated me like garbage like everyone else, but you didn’t. And I still don’t know why.”

Shiro shakes his head. “You don’t deserve to be treated like garbage.”

“But I’m not your people or anything. You don’t have to be nice to me.”

“There’s nothing nice about only being kind when you have to be,” says Shiro sharply.

Keith considers that—considers _Shiro_ —for a long moment. “Huh.” He shifts and that…that’s _awkwardness_ in the set of his shoulders. Not fear. “Uh, do you want more water?”

“Barely touched this,” Shiro admits, but he brings the cup to his lips anyway to humor Keith. This time, his hands are steady enough to actually drink it. The water is soothing on his throat, a relief he hadn’t expected.

Keith ducks his head. “Do you want me to leave?”

No. Yes. _Please don’t_.

Shiro forces his muscles to unlock and rises to his feet. “I’m not going to be good company,” he says. “But you can watch the stars with me if you want.”

Keith bobs up. “Yeah, I can do that.”

They go onto the roof and watch the sky in silence for the rest of the night.

But when Shiro comes home the next day, Keith is gone. It’s not the first time Keith has gone off on his own thing, and Shiro tells himself it’s nothing to worry about. But Keith doesn’t come back that night. Or the next. Shiro tries to tell himself he hasn’t lost the closest thing to a friend he’s found on this planet, but it doesn’t work.

And then Shiro flies into town to pick up the parts he needs to hopefully stop his washing machine from rattling the entire House whenever it runs and discovers a commotion going on in the main square. Shiro coasts to a stop.

“What’s going on?” he asks Thace who is standing to the side with Ulaz.

“That kit got caught again,” says Thace. Sighs really. He looks stern and rather annoyed, but Shiro thinks that’s just how Thace normally looks.

The crowd really is something else though. “Caught doing what?”

“Lubos claims he was stealing from him,” says Ulaz in his deep, rumbling voice. “I suppose it’s a matter of perspective. Lubos took him in as an act of charity, but there was conflict.”

“Didn’t expect to see him in town again after the last time he ran away,” says Thace.

It’s a gut feeling but…

“This kit,” Shiro says. “What does he look like? He doesn’t have dark hair, does he? About this tall, doesn’t talk very much?”

Thace’s eyes narrow. “Now that you mention it, he does look quite a bit like you.”

Shiro jumps off the hover. “Thank you for telling me,” he says, voice clipped, and he shoves his way into the crowd.

After living on TK7526-38 for almost two months, Shiro’s now familiar with Lubos’s sob story: a refugee from a planet that had been overtaken by the Galra, personally hounded and forced to flee here for safety. That might have garnered Shiro’s sympathy if Lubos weren’t an entitled brat who Shiro strongly suspect had sold out his own people to escape. Shiro has mostly tried to avoid conflict on TK7526-38, but if that leech had gotten his claws into Keith—

Shiro finds a break in the crowd in time to see Thork, acting as Lubos’s lackey, grab Keith from behind as Keith thrashes and kicks ineffectively.

“Screw you!” yells Keith. “I didn’t steal anything!”

Lubos ignores him, pointing a trembling finger. “This _boy_ dares to come back here after he stole from me. This after I generously sheltered him as a member of my household—”

“You mean your _slave!_ ” spits Keith.

“SILENCE,” snaps Thorne. He smacks Keith so hard his eyebrow splits and starts to bleed.

And that’s when Shiro breaks through the crowd.

“ _ENOUGH.”_

Dozens of eyes are on him, but Shiro finds he doesn’t care. He keeps his voice steady, but he doesn’t bother to temper his expression.

“Let that kid go,” orders Shiro, perfectly level but with no expectation of being disobeyed.

“He’s—”

“ _Now_.” Shiro holds himself to his full height. He’s not as tall among aliens as he was on Earth, but he’s still well-muscled—and he has a deadly weapon attached to his side. Keith was right: by this point, everyone has at least figured out he’s not someone to mess with.

When neither Thork nor Lubos move, Shiro steps forward and they flinch away. Shiro drops his hand onto Keith’s shoulder. He can feel the tension vibrating in Keith and squeezes once, keeping his eyes locked on Lubos.

“You’ve got a problem with my brother, you’ve got a problem with _me_.”

Lubos’s watery eyes go wide. He shrinks under the glare Shiro is giving him. “Your… brother?”

Shiro meets his eyes, daring anyone to contradict him. No one does.

“So.” Shiro keeps his voice level and deadly calm. “What’s the problem?”

Lubos is a bloody coward. He apparently has no problem tormenting a defenseless kid, but he can’t even muster up the courage to respond to Shiro. The contempt Shiro feels is beyond words.

“ _Is_ there a problem?”

Lubos whimpers some pathetic nonsense. Shiro sweeps his eyes over the crowd, shoulders back, Galra hand flat at his side, ready to ignite if needed. There’s murmuring, but no one seems to want to meet his eyes. They have to know Keith doesn’t deserve this. He’s a kid, and a desperate one at that because of the choices _they_ have made. Shiro traces over them until his burning gaze lands back on Lubos.

Lubos flinches.

“If that’s the case,” says Shiro, voice icy and hard. “I’ll be taking Keith.”

He waits a beat for someone to protest. No one does. Shiro shakes his head in disgust, and hand still on Keith’s shoulder, leads him out of the crowd and back to the hover.

Shiro assumes Keith knows how to get onto the hover by now, but Keith hesitates.

"Why’d you do that?”

“Because Lubos is a coward and leech, and this planet doesn’t have anything approaching a fair justice system,” spits Shiro, still furious.

“No, you—you called me your brother.”

Shiro’s shoulders come down. That one’s more complicated. Shiro isn’t even entirely sure what to tell himself.

“It seemed like the easiest way to get them to back down,” says Shiro. “Like you said—people know to stay clear of me.” Shiro can’t help the bitterness that creeps into his voice. He gives his head a shake to clear it. “Except you,” he admits, quieter.

Keith studies the ground. He hugs his arms around his chest, and his voice is very quiet when he speaks.

“But I’m not worth that.”

Not _worth_ … _!_

Shiro grabs Keith’s shoulders and just managed not to shake him.

“Keith,” he says. Quiet. Fierce. “You are _absolutely_ worth that. You are smart and clever and talented and so damn independent. You’re wonderful is what you are. Lubos and all those assholes who left you to starve in the desert—they’re the worthless ones. Don’t you _dare_ believe any different.”

Keith’s eyes blow wide. In the light, they have a faint purple color. One of his hands comes up, shaking, and latches onto Shiro’s wrist. He’s still staring.

“I’ve got your back,” says Shiro. “No matter—” He shakes his head. “I don’t care. I always have your back.”

Keith blinks, and when he opens his eyes again, there’s something new there. For the first time since Shiro has known him, Keith straightens completely out of his slouch.

"Me too,” he says. His expression is more open than Shiro has ever seen it, and there’s _fire._ “I’ll have your back, too.”

Shiro swallows against the swell of emotions that stirs up. He nods his head at the hover. “Ready to go?” Whatever he parts he needed have been entirely forgotten.

Keith climbs onto the hover behind him. “Yeah, let’s go home.”

_Home._

Flying to the Lion House, with Keith’s warmth against his back, Shiro feels for the first time like he’s finding one.


	2. Pidge

Having Keith around makes all the difference. Shiro still rarely sleeps through the night, still has moments when he freezes or forgets where he is and times when the despair and darkness threaten to overwhelm him, but he has good times now, too. He has something to focus on, something to look forward to, and it’s easier to come back to reality when his mind tries to tear him apart. Shiro brings Keith around, building a career for both of them as field hands on TK7526-38. Keith is a quick learner and a hard worker when it’s something he cares about. Neither of them are big talkers, but Shiro doesn’t mind: just having Keith around is enough.

Whenever they have the time, Shiro has begun teaching Keith how to fly. Keith is clearly in love with the air as much as Shiro is, and watching him work hard and figure it out just like when Shiro did once makes Shiro’s heart swell. As time goes on, Shiro also starts teaching Keith self-defense. The planet is dangerous: both the wild-life and the residents. Shiro makes sure Keith knows how to use the knife he carries around and employs an empty corral by the Lion House to teach Keith hand-to-hand combat. Keith is fast and has good instincts, but his tendency to leap into any situation without thinking is a major drawback. Shiro spends a lot of their spars dancing out of the way and sing-songing advice like, “You’re projecting your movements,” and “Watch your feet,” and “Patience yields focus, Keith.” He does try to be somewhat helpful, though. This is an important skill for Keith to have.

Besides, Keith clearly wants to learn. Shiro would be a jerk not to encourage that.

And recently, Shiro has introduced Keith to deep space piloting. Keith’s instincts in any sort of craft are nothing short of incredible. If they were on Earth, Keith could have turned Shiro’s scores into ancient history at the Garrison. Shiro would have begged Keith to be a pilot. He still would except…well, look how that worked out for Shiro. But Shiro’s determined that his bad experiences won’t limit Keith’s potential, so he uses his stolen Galra shuttle to teach Keith about checklists and gravitational fields and everything else that goes along with piloting through the stars.

“But why do we need to know how to build our own flight paths?” complains Keith from behind the controls as they chart their way to a little-known junk field. “Can’t we just let the computer do that?”

“A little left. You’re drifting towards that gas planet,” Shiro corrects. He leans back in his copilot seat. “We could let the computer do it,” he allows, “but what happens if the data is out of date? What if there’s equipment failure?”

“So you have to memorize _all_ of it?” whines Keith. He’s got a knack for space flight (last week he watched Shiro dock the ship _once_ and docked it perfectly the next time he tried), but it certainly takes more patience and preparation than flying hovers, neither of which Keith comes by naturally. He can do it, but he has to be talked into it.

“You get used to it. And it’s useful.” Shiro’s lip curls over a memory. “One time, I was on a mission and one of my crewmates messed with the navigation system on purpose. If I hadn’t known where Venus was supposed to be in the sky, I could have sent us in entirely the wrong direction. As it was, I nearly had a heart attack before I figured out it was Matt messing with me.”

Keith’s eyebrows come down. “That’s mean. He shouldn’t do that to you.”

Shiro chokes down a laugh. In the past month and change, Keith has gotten incredibly defensive of anything he perceives as a slight to Shiro. Shiro feels like he should be doing something to curb that, but his heart warms every time Keith does it.

“Nah, it was all good,” soothes Shiro. “This was back before I flew for the Alliance. It was just me and two scientists on an exploratory mission to a moon of Pluto. We had an Earth craft without any hyperdrive, so it took us five months to get there. Wasn’t much else to do besides prank each other. Card games get boring eventually, even in zero g.”

Keith’s still frowning, so Shiro laughs and ruffles his hair.

“Don’t worry, I got him back. Got him to spend two hours going through code looking for a made-up error.” Shiro grins, a bit nostalgic. “They were the best crew I ever worked with. Brilliant scientists and just good people.”

“Do you wish you’d stayed with them?” says Keith quietly.

Shiro blinks at the question, surprised at the tug in his chest. He hadn’t thought of the Holts in a while, but they had been an integral part of his last few years on Earth. Commander Holt, especially, had been someone Shiro had admired deeply. He had chosen Shiro as a pilot when Shiro had barely graduated from the Garrison and supported Shiro as he had rarely experienced before.

But… Keith’s eyebrows are drawn, and his hands look tense on the controls.

“I never could have been happy if I stayed on Earth,” says Shiro instead. He hooks a hand around Keith’s seat. “Watch your side. We’re getting close.”

“We are?” says Keith. Shiro watches him scour the visuals until he spots the tiny asteroid the junkyard is located on. “How do you just _spot_ that?” he demands.

“Lots of practice,” laughs Shiro. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

Keith puts the ship on course, then looks back. “You want to switch places?”

“Probably for the best,” says Shiro. While Shiro trusts Keith easily in open space, takeoff and landing are a bit more difficult. Especially since the repairs Shiro has made to the landing gears are sketchy at best. Keith could probably figure it out on a decent craft (he’s figured out everything else Shiro has thrown at him), but Shiro doesn’t think he quite has the experience to deal with the random glitches and equipment failure that their ship likes to throw at them. And, on the off chance Keith _doesn’t_ pick it up, Shiro really doesn’t want to end up stranded light years from home with a broken spaceship.

Not two minutes after Shiro takes the controls, there’s a disconcerting _thunk_ and the ship jerks uncomfortably.

“What was that?” says Keith.

“Hold on,” says Shiro, flicking through the read-outs quickly while checking that they’re still on course. The purple lights and the smell still bother him, but with Keith around it’s easier to remember where he is. “Damn. The inertial dampers went out again.”

“ _Sure_. Blame the inertial dampers,” smirks Keith.

"Stow it, cadet,” replies Shiro, reaching to shove Keith, but Keith is too fast and Shiro has to keep his eyes on the visuals.

“I’m not a cadet,” huffs Keith.

Shiro grins. “Oh, my bad. Shut up, feral desert child.”

Keith splutters and throws himself back dramatically into his seat. Shiro snickers. He loves that Keith trusts him with these open emotions now. His snickering is cut short though.

“Oh shoot.”

Keith immediately leans forward. “Bad?”

Shiro works the controls trying to see if he can manage a work around, but the left rear booster remains stuck in gear. They’re racing towards the asteroid, and at least part of his ship is fixed on accelerating.

Shiro sighs. “Let’s just say it’s a good thing you don’t get air sick.”

Landing when one of his back thrusters won’t turn off is difficult enough. Combined with the already shaky landing gear and no inertial dampers to absorb the shock, Shiro has his work cut out for him. He manages, nearly rattling their teeth out as they skid to a stop on the asteroid landing strip. Shiro waits a moment to make sure the ship has no new tricks to throw at them and turns to Keith.

“Well, that was easy.”

Keith socks him in the shoulder. “You ass.”

Shiro just laughs. “Do you want to stick around while I fix this or get a head start on the shopping?”

“I’ll see what they have for food. Your taste sucks.”

Shiro gasps loudly and clutches his chest. “After all I have done for you…!”

“Do you have to be this dramatic about everything?” complains Keith.

In response, Shiro pouts at him.

Keith groans and rolls his eyes. Sometimes (often) Keith is as reckless and impulsive as every cherished teenaged stereotype, but other times he rolls his eyes like he is a world-weary old man and _Shiro_ is the child here. Shiro is yet to stop being thoroughly entertained by it.

Keith grabs one of the bags they use for shopping and works on opening the airlock that drops off five feet to the ground. Theoretically there’s a ramp, but it sticks and both Keith and Shiro have decided it isn’t worth the time or effort.

“Try not to get in another fight,” Shiro warns as Keith finally gets the airlock open.

Keith pauses halfway out of the cockpit to roll his eyes. “I don’t pick fights.”

Shiro raises his eyebrows. “Kiddo, you’ve ended up in a fight two out of the last three times we went out. That’s nearly a seventy percent success rate.”

“Nerd,” says Keith.

“Astro-pilot,” Shiro shoots back. He gentles his tone. “And just remember you can come get me if anyone is giving you trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” says Keith as he jumps out of the cockpit.

He won’t, but it’s the best Shiro is going to get. Shiro sighs as he crawls under the ship dashboard to see what shorted the inertial dampers this time. He’s probably still going to end up dragging Keith out of whatever this place uses as a jail cell. It is true Keith doesn’t pick fights, but he almost always escalates them. He needs to work on knowing how to walk away and how to communicate what he needs without giving into frustration and—

Oh crap. Is _Shiro_ responsible for Keith’s social-emotional development?

The thought is slightly terrifying. Shiro dives further into the ship’s wiring to hide from the idea of how badly he’s probably messing Keith up. The good news is that, in the past few months, Shiro has gotten good at patching up of most the issues that pop up on his ship. He crawls out half an hour later, sets a message for Keith in the dashboard, and goes in search of what they need.

The thing about these swap moons and junkyards is that they are basically the galactic version of quirky thrift shops. You can normally find what you need if you are patient—and lucky— but there’s a lot of shifting through the crappy to just bizarre and you never know exactly what you’re going to come across. Shiro keeps a list on one of the tablets he’s claimed from the Lion House of what they need, and he makes a habit of combing through whatever place they’ve landed for any items on the list. Today, Shiro’s found ice packs, an odd soap that he thinks will work for cleaning dishes, fly traps, and an incredibly ugly lamp that he has no intention of actually getting but _is_ interested in seeing what reaction he can get out of Keith with it.

\\(Keith is naturally almost abrasively blunt, but Shiro can tell he’s been trying to be gentler in response to Shiro. Shiro should be helping. Or at least not actively making it worse. But Shiro _likes_ Keith’s bluntness. It’s one of the things about him that makes the universe not feel like such a dark and lonely place these days.)

Shiro is sorting through some plastic rectangle shapes, trying to figure out if they are that one ancient form of recording video (what was it called again? VCR?), when he spots someone out of the corner of his eye—and does a double take.

Maybe it’s just because he mentioned the Kerberos mission to Keith. He’s seeing things. But the longer he looks, the more he becomes convinced—

“ _Matt?_ ”

The person looks up at him, and Shiro is shocked by how much he was _right_. The person isn’t Matt, but it takes Shiro a few seconds to pick out the differences. Their hair is fluffier, their face rounder; they’re sitting but they look shorter.

“I’m not Matt,” they say testily.

Their eyes are red-rimmed.

Shiro gentles his voice. “Hey, are you all right?”

They scowl and pull a bulging backpack closer onto their lap. “I’m fine,” they say, but their bottom lip trembles.

Shiro carefully takes a seat next to them, leaving at least of foot between them. “Sorry,” he says gently. “You look a lot like someone I know.”

Because this person looks so much like a Holt that it’s unnerving. They are younger than Matt was when Shiro knew him, and that was a couple years ago, but the resemblance _can’t_ be mere coincidence. They look like if Matt got cloned a few years younger, or…

“… _Katie??_ ”

Shiro never met the youngest member of the Holt family, but he remembers Matt telling stories of how he and his sister would get mistaken for twins.

Not-Matt jumps as if Shiro has shocked them. They quickly glance over Shiro and then do a double-take.

“ _Shiro_?” they say.

Shiro blinks. “Um, yes,” he says, hardly expecting to be recognized.

“You were the pilot for the Kerberos mission,” says Maybe-Katie. “Youngest pilot to ever fly beyond the inner planets, and you left to fly for the Alliance.”

Shiro can’t think of anything to do but nod.

“Dad said—” But then Almost-Certainly-Katie stops as if her throat has closed up, and she doubles over her backpack. A minute later, Shiro realizes she’s choking back quiet, awful sobs.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, Katie…”

“Not Katie,” she chokes out. “Pidge. I’m—I’m Pidge now.”

“All right. Pidge,” stumbles Shiro. Hesitantly, he places a hand on her shaking shoulder. “It’s okay, Pidge.”

Pidge sucks in a shaky breath, and what comes out falls just short of a wail, “But it’s _not!_ ”

It could be overdone drama, but something tells Shiro this definitely is not. He rubs her back as gently as he can, making soothing noises. “Hey. Shh, shh. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

For a time, Pidge only cries. Her voice comes out in spurts. “I-I was—I was supposed to—”

“Breathe,” says Shiro, rubbing circles on her back. “You’ve got time.”

Pidge collapses against Shiro’s side. Shiro freezes for a moment, surprised by her small, warm weight, but drops his hand over her shoulders. She feels exhausted, and if all Shiro can do is hold her up, that’s what he’ll do.

Pidge nuzzles closer, tears still dripping down her face, but she scrubs impatiently at them, so Shiro pretends he doesn’t notice.

“Dad and Matt went missing on a mission past the Kuiper belt,” she says, voice soft and wounded. “And I _knew_ it wasn’t equipment failure because I broke into the Garrison, and I saw the footage, and none of it was lining up! I knew they weren’t dead. I _knew_ it, but no one would listen to me! So I stole away on an inter-galaxy shuttle to go looking for them.”

Shiro swallows a surprised laugh. He squeezes her shoulder to let her know he’s still listening, and she continues.

“And I was _right_ ,” says Pidge fiercely. “It’s wasn’t a crash—they were abducted! And—” Pidge squirms out of Shiro’s arm, and Shiro lets her. She digs in her backpack for a laptop that she drags out and opens, pulling up programs faster than Shiro can keep track of. “See? This is the footage that the Garrison was hiding and—”

For a second, Shiro loses track of what Pidge is saying. He recognizes that ship in Pidge’s pixelated image. It’s a Galra warbird, tractor beam engaged, and Shiro’s heart ticks up at just the sight of it.

And then his brain catches up.

“…so Dad and Matt were _taken_ , and I found the prison they were sent to and-and—” Pidge’s voice breaks there, but Shiro’s with it enough to make sense of the prison records she has up. And his stomach bottoms out.

No.

_No._

Matt and Commander Holt were supposed to be _safe_. Still far away on Earth, not captured by the Galra too. Certainly not—they can’t be—

Shiro looks down at Pidge and comes to his senses.

“Oh, Pidge,” he says quietly. He can’t stop the catch in his throat. “I’m so sorry.”

Pidge bunches her hands into fists. She looks angry even as tears leak out the corners of her eyes. “I was supposed to find them! They weren’t supposed to be _dead!_ ”

Shiro has no idea what to say in the face to that. It’s not her fault? They’d be proud of her? That it’s impressive she found anything on them at all? Shiro throws it all out as useless and settles for just helplessly repeating, “I’m sorry.”

Pidge scrubs at her eyes with the heel of her hand. Her skin looks a little rubbed raw there, and Shiro wonders how long she’s been here. Grieving. Alone.

Shiro looks around, but it looks like all Pidge has with her is the bulky backpack on her lap.

"How did you get here?” he says, keeping his voice as gentle as he can possibly make it. “Do you need help getting home?”

“No!” shouts Pidge. She blinks for a moment, as if expecting Shiro to contradict her; then, when he doesn’t, pulls her backpack closer to her chest, curling around it like a safety blanket. “I don’t have a home anymore,” she mumbles.

_Oh._ Shiro’s heart aches. He knows the feeling painfully well, and to see it written on Pidge’s small frame hurts something deep inside. Shiro knows better than anyone that the universe isn’t fair, but the idea that it would stoop to this— _Shiro_ might have to go through hell and pain, but Katie— _Pidge_ —is still young and innocent and had a family that loved her, and why does she have to feel this too?

There’s nothing to be done. The universe is unfair, and Shiro’s only gotten hurt trying to fix that, but like hell is he going to stop fighting.

“I’ve got a house,” he says. “It’s on a planet not far from here. It’s not much, but you’re welcome to stay with me as long as you’d like.”

Pidge squints at him. “You have a _house_?”

“I had a bit of a career change,” hedges Shiro. He changes the subject with a slight nudge. “Would you like me to take your backpack for you?”

“I’ve got it,” says Pidge immediately. She stands and swings her backpack around her shoulders. Shiro isn’t sure how she stays upright underneath it; it’s almost bigger than she is. But he sees the set of her jaw and the tremble of her lip and knows better than to comment. 

“This way,” gestures Shiro, and they make their way back to the ship.

Keith’s waiting for them when they arrive. He’s got a bag full of groceries at his feet and is pacing in a way that Shiro knows is just Keith’s typical restlessness but has the street vendor across the lot fingering their blaster nervously. He spots Shiro and offers one of his rare smiles. But then his eyes fall on Pidge, and his expression closes again.

Shiro clasps a hand on Keith’s shoulder, a silent reassurance, and smiles like Pidge isn’t also giving Keith the same treatment.

“Keith, this is Pidge. She’s going to be staying with us for a little while. Pidge, Keith. He also lives with me.” Shiro doesn’t actually say _so play nice_ , but he does his best to make his tone convey that.

Keith gives Pidge a wary look before turning his back on her to climb into the cockpit. Shiro’s pretty sure Keith is just feeling uncomfortable with this sudden change in their dynamic, but let it never be said that Keith’s social skills don’t leave something to be desired. Shiro would call him back if he didn’t suspect that would make Pidge feel worse. She’s already quiet and withdrawn, and Shiro’s aching with the inability to truly help her. The best he can do is lead her into the shuttle and, in a quick moment when she is distracted, whisper to Keith, “Be nice. I’ll explain later.”

Keith works his jaw and effectively ignores her through the flight home, but at least he isn’t being actively rude. He jumps out when they land on TK7526-38 and piles all of their supplies in his arms to carry into the House, both being helpful and clearly avoiding Pidge. The good news is Pidge doesn’t appear to notice. But seeing as that seems to be because Pidge is completely withdrawn with grief, Shiro doesn’t count that as a win.

He brings her up to one of the unused bedrooms in the House (Keith is still staying on the couch despite Shiro’s attempts to convince him to take a bed). This one is accented in green and has a smattering of abandoned tech on its shelves that Shiro has the vague idea Pidge might be interested in. She stands in the doorway blinking slowly.

“The bathroom is down the hall,” Shiro is saying. “You’re welcome anywhere in the House. Just be respectful.” When Pidge looks confused, he explains, “Don’t tear anything apart without asking. It has feelings, you know?”

Pidge nods once and enters the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Shiro is left awkwardly waiting in the hallway with no idea what he’s supposed to do. That’s it, right? If Pidge wants privacy, he should allow her that. But it feels neglectful to leave her alone and wrong to invade. She’ll…she’ll come to him if him if she needs something. Shiro thinks. He’ll leave her be at least for a little while.

“Who is she?”

Shiro is folding laundry in the mudroom when Keith finds him. And while Shiro is starting to be able to read when Keith is ready to fight and when he’s merely uncomfortable, it’s a fine line right now.

Shiro sighs as he sets down a black shirt that could be either his or Keith’s. “She’s the sister of someone I knew back on Earth. She just found out that her father and brother died. I couldn’t just leave her.”

“Oh.” Keith tilts his head up at Shiro. His eyes crinkle in a way that Shiro can’t completely grasp the meaning of. “Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t.”

“Is that a bad thing?” says Shiro, not sure where they stand right now.

“It’s a you thing,” shrugs Keith and no, that does not clarify it at all.

Shiro frowns. “Are we good then?”

Keith just looks confused, so Shiro continues.

“If you’re upset or uncomfortable, I want to know. I already promised Pidge she could stay here so I can’t go back on that, but this is your home, too. I want you to be comfortable here.”

“I’m fine,” says Keith gruffly, and whether that’s true or not, Shiro knows by now that’s all he’s going to get out of Keith until he decides he wants to disclose more. “So she’s just going to stay here?”

“Until she wants something different, yeah.”

“And then what?”

Shiro chokes on a slightly hysterical laugh. “No idea.”

Keith considers that for a minute. “That’s okay,” he says finally. “You always figure things out.” And he ends that with a tiny sliver of a smile.

Shiro feels like he should fix that serious misconception, but well…that’s a Keith almost-smile. Telling the kid that the one example of stability he has in his life is actually a half-crazy ball of anxiety and self-incrimination seems cruel. And that faith is addictive no matter how much Shiro reminds himself he doesn’t deserve it.

“Just try to be nice to her, okay?” says Shiro. “I know that’s not your forte, but you do a good job when you work at it.”

Keith’s nose wrinkles. Less in distaste, Shiro thinks, than in discomfort. “How am I supposed to do that?”

Isn’t that the question. Shiro sighs. “For now, just give her time. After that…I don’t know. Follow your instincts.”

Shiro expects another Keith scowl, but instead Keith’s face just falls.

“My instincts are always wrong.”

Seeing Keith’s intuition for flight? That’s an emphatic _no_. But Shiro’s yet to convince Keith that his skills in the air are out of the ordinarily, let alone anything else.

“Hey,” Shiro places his hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Your instincts are always spot on with me. You’re better than you think you are.”

Keith starts to lighten up and then seems to catch himself. He shakes his head hard, looking exasperated. “I don’t understand why most the planet is so afraid of you,” he says. “You sound like a dad.”

Personally, Shiro thinks they have very good reason for it. But that isn’t the right answer right now, so instead he shoves Keith’s shoulder.

“Hey, if you’re going to start making dad jokes, I’m going to make you help with the laundry.”

Keith rolls his eyes.

He stops with the dad jokes. But he still helps fold the laundry.

The next few days pass in tense anticipation. Pidge hardly leaves the room they’ve given her. Shiro doesn’t know if it is worse to invade her space when she clearly doesn’t want them or to let her suffer alone. He and Keith still have their work they need to get done to keep the Lion House running and earn enough GAC to buy the shopping for next week, but Shiro tries to check on Pidge at least twice a day. For all the good it does. Their conversations mostly goes like this:

“Hey, Pidge. Dinner’s ready.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to come down and eat with us?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You sure?”

No response.

“I’m just going to leave this plate here. For whenever you get hungry. Don’t forget to eat.”

“Okay.”

Pidge doesn’t even look at him. She’s always crouched over her laptop, typing feverishly without any regard for her surroundings when he checks on her. The only exceptions have been when he’s found her collapsed on the keyboard, clearly having fallen asleep mid-code. At those times, Shiro has removed and folded her glasses and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, but she hasn’t thanked him for it yet.

Shiro tries not to feel hurt by it. He knows she’s grieving. And he’s practically a stranger to her. But he hates how he feels so _helpless_. Pidge is just… Shiro feels the need to protect her. Keith is like a domesticated house cat: he probably shouldn’t be left to fend for himself, will likely only cause trouble if he does, but he can do it. He’ll survive even if it’s not the best option for anyone. But Pidge… Maybe it’s because Shiro can still remember the fond, indulgent way Matt would talk about his baby sister or just that she’s so _small_ , but she feels delicate. Young. And while Shiro knows she must have some serious backbone and likely a full dose of that Holt ingenuity to have made it this far out in the universe alone, he can’t shake the feeling that she needs help. And it kills him that he _can’t manage that._

Keith gives Pidge’s room wide berth. Shiro can’t tell if this is his version of giving Pidge space or something more. For a time, Shiro is worried Keith really is _that_ uncomfortable with Pidge in their house and is trying to think of how he’ll possibly navigate the conflicting needs of his two strays, but then he starts to notice Keith hovering around the corner whenever he checks on Pidge. Keith speaks up when he thinks Shiro has forgotten to take Pidge meals, and he hovers anxiously close to Shiro’s elbow as he asks, “Did you check on Pidge today?” Clearly, _he_ won’t step within ten feet of Pidge, but he is very insistent that _Shiro_ does. It would be annoying, but Shiro is starting to learn Keith-speak and he realizes that Keith is doing what he thinks he can.

(Not to mention, for all that he still can’t kick the food hoarding compulsion, Shiro is ridiculously bad at remembering to actually _eat_ the food. He would have left Pidge with nothing more than once if it hadn’t been for Keith reminding him).

If only Shiro were having as much success as Keith believes he can. It’s been over a week, and still Shiro has only spotted Pidge outside of her room a handful of times, almost always in the dead of night making her way to or from the bathroom. The plates he leaves for her are often left uneaten, and he still can’t get more than one-word answers from her. He worries. This isolation can’t be good for her, but he doesn’t know how to break through.

Shiro comes to pick up the plate of dinner that he left for her. This time the food looks entirely untouched. Shiro’s heart sinks. It’s not _working._

“Hey, Pidge,” he offers quietly.

Pidge grunts in response, back to him and face bare inches from her screen. In the past, Shiro would have let it go, but she hasn’t eaten anything. It’s bordering on two days. Shiro understands grief, but he also has to keep her _alive_.

“Pidge,” he tries again, just a little louder. This time Pidge just ignores him in favor of jabbing the backspace button aggressively.

Shiro picks up the plate and picks his way through the junk littering the bedroom floor (There hadn’t been this much junk in the room when he gave it to Pidge. Right?). He sets the plate next Pidge’s elbow. “I know you may not want to, but you have to eat.”

“I’mnothungry,” says Pidge rushed and automatic.

So that approach is out. Shiro moves the junk next to Pidge around a bit, making sure the food is no longer balanced in a precarious position, and crouches beside her.

“What are you working on?” he asks.

“Stuff,” grunts Pidge. She jams the keys furiously. Shiro tries to make sense of what’s on her screen, but programing has never been his strong suit. He learned it and knows enough to get by (and, yes, break into a few places he shouldn’t have at the Garrison), but it always takes him time to get into it. He’s never been able to glance at something and pick up the patterns the same way he can with flight. Maybe given time he could figure out what Pidge is working on, but right now all he sees is endless lines of code. It doesn’t help that Pidge has apparently abandoned all principles of best practice and gone for naming her variables with keyboard smashes.

“You’re going to hurt your back if you stay like that too long. Maybe it’s time to take a break.”

Shiro reaches for her laptop (he’s just going to turn off the screen. He’s not stupid enough to shut off her entire computer), but Pidge smacks his hand away.

“No!”

Well, at least she’s responding to him. Shiro stops reaching but purposely leaves his hand between her and the screen.

“Five minutes,” he wheedles. “It will all still be here when you come back. Just take some time to eat a little and give your eyes a rest.”

“No. I don’t need to stop.” Pidge shoves at his hand that is resting lightly on her keyboard. It’s his Galra hand. Shiro isn’t even trying, and it doesn’t budge.

“Ugh! Move!”

“Pidge,” says Shiro more seriously. “You’ve been at this too long. You need to step back for a bit.”

“No. I. DON’T.” Pidge is now yanking on his arm with all her body weight. It still doesn’t move. She finally looks at him, eyes steely with fury. “Move your hand,” she demands.

“In a minute,” promises Shiro. “Pidge, I’m worried about you. I know it might not feel important, but you need to take care of yourself.”

Pidge fixes Shiro with a sharp, calculating gaze. Then, lighting fast, she lunges. But she isn’t going for his arm like Shiro expects: instead she grabs her computer and yanks it out from under his grip. Shiro decides against fighting it. Getting in a tug-of-war with her laptop is only going to end poorly. Pidge pulls the laptop close to her chest and turns her back on him again.

“Pidge, please,” Shiro pleads. “I want to help.”

“I don’t want your help,” snaps Pidge.

Shiro tries not to take it personally. He places a hand on her shoulder—

And Pidge bats it away. “Go AWAY,” she growls. She hits him with an expression full of venom. “I don’t want you here!”

That cuts.

"You’re just a washed up, used-to-be pilot,” Pidge continues viciously. “You’re useless to me so leave me ALONE!”

Shiro catches himself against the hallway. His eyes are hot, and his chest is aching. He tries to push the hurt down, but it won’t go and it _hurts._ Stupid. _Stupid._ He shouldn’t be reacting like this. He should be stronger than this. But Pidge’s insult struck too deep. Useless. Worthless.

_Monster._

“You okay?”

Keith’s hand rests tentatively on Shiro’s shoulder.

Shiro blinks rapidly. “Yeah, fine,” he says. He hopes that his voice doesn’t sound as raspy to Keith as it does to him.

Keith studies him carefully. Finally, he nods with his chin, “C’mon.”

Shiro half expects Keith to show him some problem he’s discovered with the hover or something, but Keith leads them to the window where they can climb onto the roof. The stars aren’t out yet, but they can see the vast expanse of the sky and the way the waning sunlight carves shadows and bright highlights into the desert.

Keith scoots closer inch by inch until Shiro finally raises his arm, and Keith dives in against his side.

“Anything in particular this is about, kiddo?”

Keith frowns at his knees. “Just that Pidge was wrong. You’re the best person I know.”

Ah. Well, it’s not on Keith to manage Shiro’s emotions. Shiro tries a wane smile. “Somehow, I get the feeling that’s not a very big sample size.”

But Keith scrambles to jab Shiro in the side. “I mean it!” he says. “You—You never believe me, but it’s _true._ ”

“Hey, no,” says Shiro, rubbing between Keith’s shoulder blades. “I didn’t mean to say I didn’t believe you. I’m listening.”

“You think I’m being dumb,” sulks Keith. “That I don’t know what I’m talking about so that’s why I think that.”

That is…pretty much exactly what Shiro thinks. Not that Keith is dumb—of course not, Keith is ridiculously bright. But Keith doesn’t have a lot of experience with kindness, so naturally he thinks Shiro is doing something right. He doesn’t know any better.

“See,” says Keith. “I can see you justifying yourself in your head right now. You think you’re right, and I’m wrong.”

Shiro wants to argue, but there’s a whine to Keith’s voice, a hint of an old hurt that Shiro is only beginning to uncover. Of never being believed, of never having his experiences taken seriously.

“I believe you’re telling the truth,” says Shiro carefully. “I believe this is how you feel. I just disagree with the conclusions you draw from it.”

Keith squirms against Shiro side, staying close but looking Shiro in the eye. “Whenever _I_ think I’m not a good person, you say those are just intrusive thoughts and I shouldn’t listen to them. What make you any different?”

The difference is that Keith _is_ , fundamentally, a good kid who’s just been kicked down, forgotten and neglected until he fought back and forgot his own worth. He might be blunt and angry, but at the heart of him, Keith is _good_. He desperately wants to do the right thing if only you’ll pay him enough attention to tell him what that is. He’s not Shiro. He doesn’t have blood on his hands or a past he can never make up for.

But he is also, quite obviously, projecting onto Shiro, which means Shiro can’t say any of that without it reflecting back onto Keith.

Shiro ruffles Keith’s hair. “You’re smarter than I give you credit for,” he deflects instead, trusting Keith to miss his meaning.

And it works just as he expected it to. Keith slumps against Shiro’s side again, not quite happy but no longer upset. “That’s not true,” says Keith. “You think I’m way smarter than anyone else does.”

Shiro hums. “I’m right.”

That earns him a snort. “You always think you’re right.”

Shiro chooses not to comment on that one. Instead he rubs Keith’s shoulder again. “Everything good now?”

“Ye—No,” Keith decides mid-word. He frowns. “You were trying to help. Pidge shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

Oh. Shiro wishes he hadn’t brought that up. The wound is still there, smarting when he thinks about it.

“Hey, be easy on Pidge. She’s grieving. Emotions are allowed.”

“No, I get that,” says Keith fiercely. “But just because she’s hurting doesn’t give her a right to hurt you!”

That’s—Shiro knows that. He’s _always_ known that. So why does he feel like he’s never heard it before?

A crack forms in his chest, a tiny peek at a feeling that wants to _scream_ like a hurt child and leaves Shiro feeling pained and weak.

Shiro can’t find words. He doesn’t even want to _think_. He hugs Keith to him, too tight, though he can’t make himself relax. And Keith wraps both arms around him, hugging him just as hard. They stay like that until Shiro learns how to breathe again.

Shiro wakes up with the indescribable sense that something is _there_ and, frankly, it’s one of the nicer ways he’s woken up this week. He blinks rapidly, scanning the room for intruders in the shadows, in the corners… By this point, he can recognize the shapes of the dresser and the writing desk in his room. And at least he was able to fall asleep in the bed tonight. He makes out shapes and shadows of his room in the Lion House, all familiar except—

Wait.

There _is_ something there.

Shiro bolts upright, blinking to make sure he’s not seeing things. But there’s no purple flickering at the edges of his vision, and there’s _definitely_ a silhouette of someone standing in his doorway. Small, spiky head, vaguely reminds Shiro of gremlins at some point.

“Shiro?”

Her voice is watery and barely makes it across the room.

“C-Can I come in?”

_Pidge_. Shiro swings his legs out of bed and starts making his way towards her.

"Yeah.” He coughs, trying to dislodge the sleep still caked in his throat. “Of course. Come in.”

Pidge edges into the room. One of the moons is up, crescent phase, lending a little light to the room, but Shiro can’t make out her expression. He’s not sure he could even in full daylight.

“I…” she starts. Fidgets. Resettles her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “I…”

Moving slowly because he really has no idea what the right thing is in this situation, Shiro touches Pidge’s shoulder. He expects to be ignored at best, but Pidge sags against the contact. Shiro tightens his grip just to keep her upright.

“Let’s sit on the bed,” he suggests. “You want to talk?”

Biting her lip, Pidge nods. She allows Shiro to direct her to his bed and climbs up beside him. Her arms wrap around her middle like a self-hug, and Shiro doesn’t know if she would welcome touch from him right now or not. He considers prompting her, but maybe like with Keith, it’s better to just wait.

“I didn’t find them,” says Pidge, voice low and wounded. “I was too late. They died _two days_ before I figured out what planet they were on.”

Oh, _Pidge._

“I keep running the numbers. They were _right there,_ and I _missed_ it. I keep trying to figure out what I did wrong, but I can’t. I can’t find it.”

Pidge sniffs and rubs her eyes under her glasses. And then she looks up. “Why couldn’t I find them, Shiro?”

Shiro’s heart breaks. “Sometimes it just doesn’t work out like that.”

“No!” shouts Pidge. Tears leak down her cheeks now. She pounds her fist into her thigh. “No! I don’t believe that. Things don’t just _happen_. It’s a choice!”

“Of course,” says Shiro. “But you have to make the choice from the options you have available. Sometimes there’s just not one that will get you what you want.”

“Then you make it!” snaps Pidge. “You put it together to _make_ it an option! You don’t just give up like some jarheaded idiot! I’m a Holt!”

“You are a Holt. And you didn’t give up.”

“Holts find solutions! There’s _always_ a way—”

“Sometimes there’s not. No matter how smart you are.”

“THERE SHOULD BE.”

Pidge sniffs furiously as snot starts to drip as well. She scrubs her whole face with the back of her hand.

“It’s not your fault,” whispers Shiro.

Pidge shakes her head. “I was supposed to find them.”

“Pidge, listen to me,” says Shiro, fiercer now. “ _It’s_ _not your fault._ ”

“But I didn’t find them! They—they’re _GONE!_ ”

For a moment, Pidge’s breath seems to stop. Before Shiro thinks it through, he starts to open his arms—

—and Pidge slams into his chest, small hands clinging to his shirt, shaking violently.

“They’re _gone!_ I didn’t find them, and they’re gone!”

“Hey, shh. I know.” Shiro rocks them both gently. “I know. You did your best. It’s not your fault.”

“I _FAILED_ ,” wails Pidge. Shiro gets the impression that she hasn’t truly experienced that before. And for the first time in such a way too. Shiro keeps rocking her.

“I know. It’s not your fault.”

“I failed my _family!_ ”

“No. No, you didn’t.” Shiro’s voice starts shaking. He can’t seem to stop it. “You didn’t fail them, Pidge. You did everything you could.”

“But they’re still—”

“Just because you couldn’t save them doesn’t mean you loved them any less.” Shiro feels something pushing up from his chest, pressing against his tongue. All he can do is hold Pidge tighter. “You loved them enough. I swear to you, it was enough.”

“It didn’t _work_ ,” sobs Pidge.

“I know.” Shiro’s voice is breaking. He’s choking back sobs himself. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Pidge’s tears have soaked through his thin pajama shirt. “I want them back,” she says, small and broken.

And that’s where Shiro stops trying not to cry and just buries his nose in Pidge’s curls. “I know,” he says over and over again. “I know. It’s okay. You love them. It’s all right. I know it hurts.”

Pidge has stopped responding with words, now just crying. It isn’t the big, grief-stricken sobs anymore but tears that leak out of her like blood. All Shiro can do is hold her, murmuring aching words.

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. You loved them enough. You did the best you could. I _know_.”

Somehow, Pidge ends up in his lap. She makes a tiny bundle, face pressed into his chest. Shiro tucks her head under his chin and wraps his arms around her.

“Shhh,” he murmurs when he feels her shudder. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Pidge nods silently against his collarbone. She’s got to be exhausted. Shiro suspects she hasn’t been sleeping well either. Shiro holds her, and if he notices the wet patch growing on his collar, he doesn’t mention it.

He won’t fall asleep, not with Pidge finally drifting off on top of him. He knows what hides in his dreams. So he stays awake to guard her.

And his thoughts drift.

Pidge’s grief and guilt feel eerily familiar. There are times when he wakes up at night. When he can hear a tiny, terrified part inside him crying. _But I didn’t want to! I didn’t mean for them to die. I didn’t WANT—_

But he did, he reminds himself. He wants so badly for there to be someone to sooth him and comfort him like he could Pidge, but there’s nothing to comfort. Those lives are on his head. He did fail them.

It’s not enough to stop the tears that drip into Pidge’s hair. He wishes it hadn’t been his fault. He wishes he had tried enough.

Sunlight filters hot and bright through the curtains of Shiro’s room, falling directly onto Pidge’s face. She makes a noise of distaste and nuzzles deeper into Shiro’s chest. Shiro has been awake ever since she came into his room around four in the morning. It’s not even the worst night he’s had. Like he has every time Pidge has become restless in her sleep, he strokes her hair and makes soothing noises in the back of his throat. But this time she groans again and starts squirming. Shiro can tell the exact moment when she becomes aware of her surroundings because she goes still. Her hand opens and closes around a fistful of his shirt. And then she pushes her face up.

“Shiro?”

“Hey,” says Shiro gently. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and she has creases across her cheek from his shirt. Her hair is a mess, but it started out like that. “How are you?”

Pidge winces and curls against him again. “It still hurts,” she mumbles.

Shiro hums in sympathy. He doesn’t think there’s anything else to say.

“I don’t _want_ to hurt,” continues Pidge. “I want—I want it just to be _done._ ”

Shiro knows the feeling. He doesn’t think telling her it _won’t_ end, not really, or that being able to feel is a blessing will help her at this moment.

Pidge squirms so that there’s distance between them. She squints at Shiro, and he remembers he removed her glasses sometime in the night. He picks them up now and hands them to her. Pidge scrubs at them with the edge of her shirt before putting them on. She frowns.

“I think I was mean to you,” she says quietly.

Shiro feels an odd jump his chest. That’s not how he expected this going.

“You were hurting,” he says gently.

“Yeah, but—” Pidge’s nose scrunches up as she thinks of what she wants to say. “I don’t think I want to be like that.”

Shiro is mostly stunned. This wasn’t the direction he thought they were going at all. “Does it help if I say I forgive you?”

Pidge chews her lip. “Maybe,” she allows. “But I want to be better.”

“You can be,” says Shiro easily. “You will be.”

Pidge tilts her head. She reminds Shiro of a baby bird, just barely figuring out how the world works. To his surprise, she rewards him with a tiny sliver of a smile. She scrubs at her eyes immediately afterward, but it was there.

“I don’t know what to do now,” she admits.

“You don’t have to. Not yet,” assures Shiro. “Start with the basics.” Gently as he can, he brings up something he had noticed at some point in the night. “When was the last time you took a shower?”

Pidge’s eyes widen with dawning regret. She lifts one arm and sniffs. Immediately, she drops that arm, her nose wrinkled.

“I sweat a lot,” she says flatly. She doesn’t sound embarrassed, just annoyed, which Shiro finds endearing.

He smiles back at her. “Maybe time to give that a shot?”

Pidge grumbles in the back of her throat. “Organic life-form problems.”

For a just a moment, Shiro can hear Matt in her words, and he snorts before the heartache catches up. But Pidge won’t appreciate the comparison now.

“Yeah, those things. Burden of this physical existence.”

Pidge’s eyes crinkle which means she gets his joke. Nice. Keith never appreciates Shiro’s humor.

She still looks fragile though, so Shiro keeps his voice gentle. “Why don’t you take a shower and when you’re done you can join us for breakfast?”

His voice comes out less certain than he intended. He can’t get the memory of Pidge’s rejection out of his head (was it only last night?), and the fear that she won’t accept plagues him.

Pidge looks at him like she’s remembering the same thing. But this time she nods. “Yeah. I can do that.”

She slides off the bed and pauses to give him another tiny, fledging smile. “Thank you, Shiro.”

After getting Pidge settled with her shower and sneaking past Keith on his couch (Shiro makes a mental note to try to get Keith to move into a bedroom again, but he’s starting to suspect this is a battle he won’t win), Shiro goes outside to the little hut where he keeps two _azwukezi_ : small, vibrantly blue creatures that Shiro is almost certain are the results of illegal gene modification. Pruig gave them to him in his first few weeks on planet. They are much like the chickens on Earth, except they are covered in razor-sharp scales and have beaks that can break bone. Most residents of TK7526-38 consider them too dangerous to be of much use, but a metal hand does have its advantages. Shiro shoos them away from their nest to collect their edible—if radio-active green—eggs and heads back to the House. He’s not much of a cook, but Keith somehow ended up with fresh vegetables yesterday. Shiro figures that’s enough to make a passable omelet since his and Keith’s attempts to create a recipe for pancakes have been largely unsuccessful.

(He and Keith have still eaten the entire batch of every attempt, but Shiro suspects that says more about their previous life experiences than the edibility of said not-pancakes.)

An omelet can’t be that hard, though. Or well…at worst it’ll just turn into vegetables mixed in with scrambled eggs. Shiro’s not entirely sure what the difference is anyway.

He’s just entered the kitchen, _azwukezi_ eggs in hand, when he hears something that makes him freeze.

“Oh. Uh, hey.”

“Hi.”

Keith has run into Pidge. Perhaps almost literally from what Shiro can glimpse from his angle in the doorway.

“Um. You’re Keith, right?” says Pidge, and Shiro is warmed to hear that she seems to be actually trying.

“Yeah,” says Keith. He’s harder to read. He has his back to Shiro, and from the set of his shoulders, all Shiro can tell is that he’s uncomfortable which could mean any number of things. Shiro hurriedly sets the eggs on the counter, readying to intervene.

“Uh,” says Keith. Shiro can hear the swish of his pants as he shifts uncomfortably. “Just… I lost my dad, too.”

Shiro freezes.

“Yeah?” says Pidge in a small voice.

“Yeah.” Keith’s pants swish again. “It was pretty rough. I was in a really bad place for a while.”

Shiro fights a surge of emotions. He’s incredibly proud of Keith’s (awkward though it is) clearly sincere attempt at empathy, but at the same time, Keith _never_ talks about his past or his family and Shiro can’t stop the envy that flares inside him.

At least until he hears Keith’s next words.

“Shiro was the one who changed that for me.”

“Shiro took you in, too?” says Pidge.

“Yeah.” This time, Keith’s voice sounds stronger, more energized. “I was stealing his food ‘cause…whatever. Doesn’t matter. But I thought he was going to get mad and throw me out like everyone else and there were all these rumors about him, but he didn’t even tell me off. He kept trying to feed me and didn’t care that I did things wrong or asked for too much. And he’s got his own shit, too, he doesn’t need me around, but he still keeps me and like…teaches me how to fly and stuff.” Awkward Keith is back. “So.”

“Shiro was really nice to me, too,” says Pidge. Her voice grows softer. “Even when I didn’t deserve it.” 

“Shiro is _Good_ ,” says Keith emphatically, and there’s some kind of meaning there, something that Shiro doesn’t get.

But apparently Pidge does.

“Yeah,” she agrees, just as sincere. “He is.”

Shiro is currently blue-screening in the kitchen, unable to process what he’s hearing besides a strange bubble in his chest. He needs to…He needs to _move_ before something happens, before whatever this is in his chest shatters and it all goes wrong. Shiro finally manages to unlock his muscles and make himself leave the kitchen.

Keith and Pidge smile at him—both sincere but both guarded in their own way—and neither seem to consider that he could have overheard him. Shiro has no intention of letting them think differently. He smiles and holds up a spatula.

“Who wants to make sure I don’t burn breakfast?”

Pidge joins him on one side, Keith flanks the other, and it feels like they’re finally getting somewhere.

From there, Pidge opens up bit by bit. She starts spending more time in the common areas of the Lion House and will join them when Shiro asks (most the time, anyway). She and Keith circle around each other like wary cats, cautiously investigating this new person in their territory. They’re no longer antagonistic though, and Shiro’s heart warms when he comes into the living room one day to find Pidge coding on the floor of the living room while Keith polishes his knife on the couch behind her. Shiro makes an effort to invite her to join whatever he and Keith are doing, and slowly Pidge becomes part of their life.

Pidge claims her allergies and pale skin don’t mix well with the outdoors (“It’s the desert,” Keith points out. “What is there to be allergic to?” “Dust,” deadpans Pidge, and Shiro still isn’t entirely sure if she was serious or not.), but she finds her place in other ways. In the next two weeks, ninety-five percent of the tech in the Lion House gets torn to pieces. Two days after that, it gets put back together in new forms that work better than ever. (The exception is the toaster that Pidge tried to connect to a retrofitted hover-tray so that it could make her toast and bring it to her room without her having to leave a coding binge. The result was a pile of smoldering remains that they took straight to the junkyard, and Shiro ended up having to barter with Rolo to get a new one).

Pidge isn’t interested in flying or sparring like Keith, but Shiro still pulls her into self-defense training when he can. Even if she weren’t out in the field with them, he doesn’t like the idea of her alone in the House without knowing how to protect herself. Pidge is a dead clever fighter, and Shiro only has to teach her the basics of how to use her size to her advantage for her to pick it up with a vengeance. She spends a few weeks fiddling with equipment in the laundry room/makeshift lab (Shiro outlawed science projects from the bedroom after the second time the curtains caught on fire) and comes out with a weapon of her own invention. It’s something like a grappling hook crossed with a taser that can also be locked in place to create a very terrifying version of laser-bladed brass knuckles. She seems convinced she won’t have to engage in the physical exertion if she has this. Shiro insists she train with it anyway—“A weapon you don’t know how to use is a weapon for your enemy”—and refuses to let her use it until she’s installed proper safety features. That’s a fight he could have done without, but he starts to think maybe it was more of a battle of wits because Pidge comes back to him the next day with his demands perfectly implemented (and some even improved) and seeking his approval.

Which is all well and good except it’s the beginning of a pattern. Bad enough Shiro has to attempt to curb Keith’s stubborn impulsiveness. Now Pidge wants to test her intelligence against him, which is unfortunate because she’s _definitely_ smarter than he is. It takes everything he has not to let her talk circles around him when he’s just enforcing basic _common sense._ And that’s not even getting into what happens when Pidge and Keith end up working together.

At first, Shiro thinks it’s a _good_ thing they are getting along better. Although neither of them will ever admit it, Shiro can tell they’re both lonely and they need someone else their age. Not to mention, the more they have each other, the less they have to rely on him, the broken man who just happened to take them in. It seemed like a great idea.

Seemed.

One month later, Shiro is standing in the courthouse, pinching his nose and regretting all his life choices.

“Explain to me again,” he says in a tired, dad-voice he didn’t even know he had. “What exactly happened?”

“It wasn’t our fault!” cried Pidge immediately, and for just a second, Shiro’s exasperation gets the better of him. Keith is a terrible liar and knows it. Pidge however…

“You’re behind bars. In jail,” Shiro says carefully. “For taking com tabs that I know you stole because I can see them _in the cell with you._ ”

"Yeah, but that wasn’t the plan!” says Pidge. Behind her, Keith nods, eyes wide on Shiro like he can’t believe Shiro is upset about this.

But they basically got arrested. During the _five minutes_ Shiro took to exchange _azwukezi_ eggs for milk and neither of them seem to be aware of what they were doing wrong.

Unfortunately, Shiro isn’t too clear on what went wrong either. Ulaz just gave him a heads up, and now Shiro’s trying to get the story out of his wayward teens while Thork grumbles angry threats behind him.

Shiro folds his arms, given them his best “I’m not impressed yet” face that he’s been practicing privately in the bathroom mirror since getting into arguments with Pidge.

"So what _was_ the plan then?”

“Keith wanted to get back at Lubos.”

Shiro hits Keith with a Look. “I thought we talked about the virtue of walking away.”

“Yeah, but that was just about picking fights you couldn’t win,” says Keith. “Pidge said we could win.”

"And what’s the point of walking away when you could get revenge?” adds Pidge with a toothy smile.

Oh no, thinks Shiro looking from one unrepentant teen to the next.

“How about not getting arrested?” he suggests blandly.

Keith and Pidge share a look. And a shrug.

“Worth it,” says Pidge.

Oh _no._

“You were always going to come and get us, right?” says Keith, and dammit, the faith in the kid’s eyes isn’t something Shiro can just look away from.

Shiro does some quick mental calculations and realizes that there is exactly no way he’s going to win this one. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll talk to Thork and get you out, but you’re returning those com tabs to the rightful owners and whatever else you’ve taken or disrupted.”

“We haven’t—”

Yeah, no. Shiro’s not buying that. “ _Whatever else,_ ” he says sternly, hoping that if he speaks like he expects to be obeyed there’s a half chance he’ll actually be listened to. He nails them with a look that, again, he hopes will somehow get through to them, and then goes to work on negotiating their release.

A quarter of an hour later, Keith and Pidge leave the cell.

Whispering to each other. Great.

Shiro puts an arm around each skinny shoulder and marches them down the square to return the stolen com tabs. Luxia is not too happy about her “borrowed” com tabs but she is at least graceful about it. It seems everything is about sorted out when Luxia places a fin on his forearm and asks him to wait.

“Are multiple births common in your species?”

Shiro pauses, completely thrown. “Um, not common exactly,” he says wondering what on earth Luxia is getting at.

“But they do happen.” Luxia nods. “It’s strange: I had thought your species was a sexual one. Do you not need a partner to reproduce?”

Shiro’s face is getting redder by the minute. “Uh…” There’s a lot of strange and impossible things that have happened in his life, but having to give an alien the Talk is one he could really do without.

“What makes you ask that?” he says, fighting to keep his voice at a normal pitch.

Luxia clasps her fins. “I did not mean to offend! It’s just that you have another child now, and so soon after the first one…”

It takes minute for Shiro to pick up on what she’s saying and then he turns ever redder. “Oh, no. They—they’re not mine.”

Luxia huffs in annoyance. “Of course they’re yours! Who else’s would they be? You’ve even said so yourself!”

“Ah, see, that’s not…” Shiro takes half a second to consider what to explain to Luxia, but seeing as he doesn’t have a clear explanation for himself, he gives that up as a lost cause. “It’s complicated. Sorry, I think it’s time for us to go now. Thank you for not getting angry about the com tabs.”

“Kits are precious,” chides Luxia. “You should not be ashamed of them.”

“I—of course I’m not,” says Shiro, a bit hurt at the _idea_ of being ashamed of Keith or Pidge. “It’s just…complicated. Like I said. Ah, thank you again.”

And then he hurries back to Pidge and Keith before he has to answer any more embarrassing questions. If they notice his red face, they don’t comment, though the smirk on Pidge’s face is pretty telling.

“All right. Everyone on the hover,” says Shiro as he ties down the milk between the hover blades.

“Wait,” says Pidge, and Shiro stops working. She catches Keith’s eye, who nods, and Pidge squares her shoulders.

"We’re sorry we caused you trouble. And that we stole from Luxia. But you should have heard what Lubos was saying!”

Shiro sighs and reminds himself that these are kids, they’re still young and have a lot to learn. “I understand how that can be upsetting, but you have to learn how to let comments roll off your back sometimes. I’m sorry Lubos was rude to you—”

“He wasn’t rude to _us_ ,” says Keith. “He was talking shit about you!”

“Yeah!” says Pidge, her amber eyes gleaming. “No one gets to talk about you like that around us!”

What Shiro _should_ do is remind them that his well-being is none of their responsibility, that he can handle himself and comments like that don’t even matter anyway.

But Shiro’s weak. There’s fire in both of their eyes, and he’s not sure he’s seen Pidge this furiously _alive_ before.

"We’re on your side,” says Keith fiercely. “ _Always_.”

It’s not right. These teenagers— _kids—_ should not be the ones protecting him.

But Shiro’s been alone for so long. It’s selfish how much he wants them around.

"Just don’t end up in jail again,” he sighs.

“So you’re saying just don’t get caught,” grins Pidge.

“I’m saying get on the damn hover,” says Shiro because he knows he won’t win this one. And so he flies home with two smug, unrepentant teenagers, Pidge in front chattering with pride about all she and Keith did to get revenge on Lubos. Keith doesn’t say much, but his tight grip around Shiro’s waist says enough.

Shiro should really be planning a lecture for them when they get home, but he can’t make himself do it. And Pidge seems _happy_ , genuinely happy (and mischievous and rebellious) like he hasn’t seen on her yet. If he’s protecting that, it can’t be such a bad thing.

Right?

Things settle into—well, it’s not a routine. There’s no such thing as a routine on TK7526-38, but there is a certain level of familiarity and comfort. Keith and Pidge, despite having very different interests, bond over a similar sense of drive and focus. Pidge joins when they go into the fields now, carrying her homemade weapon with her (after a few weeks of training, she’s terrifyingly effective with it. Shiro can’t tell if he should be frightened or proud). She often helps fix tech while they’re out—for a fee, of course—and has entirely taken over the laundry room with her personal projects. None of which, unfortunately, help with the laundry, which is too bad because it’s a chore all of them hate.

And then one day, they are all sitting on the front porch. The Lion House seems more alive today. Not angry, just…aware. Shiro is only one who notices. In the time they’ve all lived there, he’s shared his impression of the House, but it doesn’t seem to click with the others. Keith mentions some kind of energy, but he can’t pick up on any feeling. Pidge can’t hear it at all. So Shiro’s stopped telling them when the House is sad or lonely or aching. He’ll keep that to himself and lean against it when he needs to.

Like today. The Lion House feels soothing after fighting off a panic attack all day. He’d made it to his room at least before he broke down. And now he’s here, feeling the wind, listening to the sounds of the desert. Keith is scrubbing dirt out of the jacket Shiro had given him ages ago (it’s a little too short for him, but Keith refuses to get another). Pidge has roped Shiro into one of her projects having talked him into using the pinky finger of his Galra arm as a soldering iron. Shiro is meticulously soldering tiny chips onto her circuit board while Pidge works on the circuit-to-housing interface. All is quiet, and if Shiro focuses on his work and the faint sounds of Keith and Pidge working next to him, he can almost convince himself that the next time he blinks, he won’t open his eyes to blinding purple.

Pidge draws his attention though. She has been working on the wiring, lacing it through the housing, pausing, and then pulling it out again her brow furrowed. Shiro gets the impression she isn’t really paying attention. Which is unusual because normally when Pidge is working on project, the difficulty is trying to get her to pay attention to anything _else._

Shockingly, it’s _Keith_ who puts down his jacket and squats in front of Pidge. “Are you okay?” he says bluntly but not unkindly.

Pidge jumps and looks rapidly between Shiro and Keith. Shiro shrugs and does his best to give her a soothing smile.

“Well, if Keith noticed…” he says mildly.

Pidge ducks her head, bangs falling behind her glasses. “Yeah, I guess it wasn’t too subtle.”

“Um, if it’s a Shiro conversation, I can go inside,” says Keith carefully.

"No, it’s—It kind of is. But you can stay,” Pidge assures Keith. Keith immediately takes a seat directly in front of her, and Pidge gifts him with a smile.

They’ve grown so much together. Shiro is so proud.

And apparently has some conversation he needs to have with Pidge that he didn’t know about. He sets the circuit board aside.

“What do you need, Pidge?”

“It’s just…” Pidge digs her toe into the ground. Her gaze traces up to Keith who looks startled and confused for a moment. But then his dark brows draw together. Very seriously, he places his hand on Pidge’s kneecap and nods.

“All right, is there something going on that I need to know about?” says Shiro because Keith has an expression like he’s just sealed a blood oath and Pidge is definitely wily enough to use that to her advantage.

“No!” says Pidge and the same time Keith says, “Not right now,” wide eyed and entirely innocent.

Pidge throws her hands up. “How are we supposed to get away with anything if you are always honest with Shiro?” she demands of Keith.

“But it’s Shiro,” says Keith, sounding earnestly lost. “Why do we need to keep things from him?”

“I—Yeah, okay,” hedges Pidge, rolling her shoulders back. Clearly, she has different feelings on the matter, but she’s willing to let Keith have this one and it’s kind of sweet.

"Well, at least I know I can trust one of you,” drawls Shiro.

But Pidge drops her head, and Shiro’s stomach bottoms out. He reaches out for Pidge’s shoulder.

“Hey, no. That was a joke,” he assures, squeezing. “Of course I trust you.”

Pidge looks up at him. “Really?”

“Sure,” says Shiro. “You’re smart and brilliant and who else could figure out how to build their own weapon out of left-over tech? Even the House likes you, I can feel it.”

“Then can I stay?”

The question so blindsides Shiro that he can’t do much besides stare at her. Pidge seems to misinterpret that and chews on her lip.

“I just…You said I should figure out what I wanted to do now. After— And I don’t _want_ to go back to Earth. I like it here, and Keith said you called him your brother and I don’t have to be that, but I thought maybe—”

“Of _course_ you can stay!” Shiro bursts out. “What makes you think you couldn’t?”

Pidge launches herself at him, squeezing her arms around his waist. “ _Thank you!_ ” she cries, and Shiro feels like a failure for not making this obvious earlier but he at least has enough sense to hug her back.

Keith scoots onto the porch behind Pidge and pats her awkwardly on the back. His gaze flicks to Shiro, and then he returns to patting Pidge’s back with singular focus. Shiro chokes back a laugh. He shouldn’t make fun of Keith’s attempts at emotional support. But then, the joy that bubbles up at knowing Pidge wants to stay leaves him feeling uncomfortably out of control.

“I-I know you already have a family,” says Shiro. “We can’t replace that. But if you want one here—”

Shiro doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Pidge squeezes the life out of him. Then she twists around to seize Keith in a hug that leaves Keith shocked and bright red.

“Shiro…” croaks Keith, looking terrified.

Shiro just cackles and ruffles both their hair, to their mutual annoyance. They pull away, make eye contact, and then dive forward to tackle Shiro.

“Tickle war!” yells Pidge and Keith launches in with the same intensity he brings to everything.

Shiro yelps and tries to squirm away, but against two tiny, wiry teens he doesn’t have a chance. Especially when he’d rather die than hurt them. Keith and Pidge bury him, sharp fingers digging into his ribs.

But worth it. Completely and utterly worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I killed the Holts. I'm so sorry.
> 
> On the other hand, sibling bonding! So it all evens out, right?


	3. Lance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the record, I swear I had the rough draft of this chapter written almost a year ago aka LONG before coronavirus. 2020 is a crazy year, I swear.

“All right, turn twenty degrees star-side—”

“Star-side? We’re in space! There’s stars everywhere, Pidge!”

“Starboard,” corrects Shiro from the back.

Keith throws his hands in the air. “That doesn’t make any more sense!”

Shiro reaches from behind Keith to put his hands back on the sticks. “Focus, cadet,” he says out of habit—and for the huff of annoyance that comes out of Keith every time he calls him a cadet. “Pidge, continue.”

“Eh,” says Pidge, who was leading their navigation but now has the readouts scrolling randomly. “See that sort of orange spot upper left? You want to aim just to the side of that only there’s this debris cloud in front so avoid that.”

Shiro sighs deeply while Keith adjusts their course.

“How dense is the debris cloud?” asks Keith.

“Mm…” Pidge looks at her read out. “Not very. You know, I bet we could—”

“No,” says Shiro before this can go any further.

Pidge twists around to give him the butter-won’t-melt innocent smile that Shiro doesn’t believe for a second. “But Shiro, you said to chart the best course, and this would save us at _least_ two doboshes—”

“Do you remember the Psyche mission?” says Shiro. “One _paint chip_. It got caught in the exhaust line and the entire thing blew up. We are not going through the debris field.”

Pidge grumbles. “Fine. Wait thirty ticks and then turn towards the orange spot.”

“That orange spot is called a nebula,” says Shiro. “And you’re going to have to specify the angle of approach, Pidge.”

“Why?” says Keith who has, at least, followed Pidge’s instructions without a problem. “You’ve never needed the angle spelled out for you before.”

“I’m not going to be the one landing,” says Shiro, clasping Keith’s shoulder. He feels the kid’s shoulders jump. Keith nearly looks back but remembers last minute to keep his eyes on the view screen (he’s _learning_ ).

“But you always land,” says Keith, tone halfway a question.

“When the landing gears were broken,” replies Shiro easily. “But now that Pidge fixed them up, it’s about time you learned how, don’t you think?”

There’s still tension in Keith’s shoulders. Shiro squeezes lightly.

“You can do it, Keith,” he says. “I believe in you.”

Keith doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders relax, and his chin comes up. He’ll do it and blow all of Shiro’s expectations out of the water because that’s who Keith is. Even if he doesn’t believe it.

“Um, Shiro?” interrupts Pidge. “What does this symbol mean? I thought I knew Galra, but this one is weird.”

Checking that Keith still has them on course (of course he does, Keith is a natural), Shiro bends over to examine Pidge’s reading. His eyes go wide. “That’s an evacuation symbol. We should—” Shiro catches the rest of the readout and stops. “Pidge, that’s three systems away.”

Pidge smiles innocently. “I was curious.”

“Yeah, well, next time don’t give me a heart attack,” says Shiro, ruffling her hair. Pidge scowls but at least she doesn’t know how hard his heart is pounding.

That isn’t a Galran symbol. It’s from the Alliance. And it’s usually meant to indicate when a planet is dying—

Or destroyed by the Galra.

Destroyed by the Galra likely also means surrounded by Galra warships, and Shiro has done his best to put his past behind him (the addition of Pidge has done wonders in terms of distraction) but just the thought of being caught by the Galra again leaves his mind racing.

Shiro exhales, counts to five, then inhales again. It’s fine. It’s going to be _fine._ The Galra are three systems over, they have no idea where he is, and he will die before he lets them lay a hand on Pidge or Keith. That, at least, he can guarantee.

“Hey, we can fly inside the Roche limit and cut time, right, Shiro?” says Pidge, interrupting his thoughts.

Oh boy. Shiro leans forward to discuss gravitational limits with Pidge and shoves the anxiety aside.

They’re further from TK7526-38 than they normally go, but the whole point of this is to give Keith and Pidge experience in deep space. They have apparently decided they’re going to stay with Shiro at least somewhat permanently, but they’re still _kids_. They should be going to school, progressing, not getting stuck on a desert planet in the middle of nowhere. Shiro gets that trying to get them to move on will only go badly right now, but he has to at least give them _something._ So Shiro’s teaching them the one thing he really knows. At least if something happens, they’ll know how to leave.

Today, that means teaching Pidge navigation and Keith how to land. Pidge has picked up on navigation much easier than Keith did, though the routes she picks are normally of the same kind that landed Shiro in hot water in the Garrison. Technically, they work, but they rely on skill and a little bit of luck that none of the instructors ever approved of. Of course, those kinds of plans are exactly what put Shiro at the top of his graduating class and beyond, but he has a little more empathy for his instructors now. It’s a lot more nerve wracking when you’re not the one in the pilot seat.

But Shiro doesn’t want to squash creativity either, so he patiently talks down every one of Pidge’s wild ideas (even if Keith could likely pull them off) and lets them try a few more. He wants them to know _why_ ideas are bad, not just that they’re off limits.

When they approach the trading hub, Keith flexes against the seat and sets his jaw. He lands them faster than Shiro would but without a single bump. Shiro rewards him with a quick, one-armed hug, “Nice job, buddy. Pretty soon you’ll be the one teaching _me_ tricks.”

Keith shakes his head, but his grin is wide and goofy. “Nah. I figure you’ve still got a few good years in you.”

Pidge snickers. “And then what? We put Shiro out to pasture?”

Shiro gasps melodramatically. “Are you calling me _old_?”

“No,” says Keith, his eyes dancing. Pidge suddenly starts laughing.

“Ohmigosh! Ohmigosh! We could—we could—” She’s laughing so hard she can hardly speak. “Hover chair! Like a wheelchair but with hover technology. We could build one! So Shiro can keep flying even when he’s old!”

Keith blinks twice and then doubles over, laughing almost as hard as Pidge.

“All right,” says Shiro, fighting to keep his lips from twitching. “Let’s get going. Before my old bones crumble to dust, apparently. Pidge, are the coms working?”

It takes Pidge a few tries to stop laughing. “I see you trying to change the subject, but I’ll allow it,” she says, still grinning. “I upgraded the transmitters on the tablets. They can send and receive audio now.”

“Oh, nice,” says Shiro, opening his datapad and confirming the application works as expected. He puts it in his pocket and looks back at his two troublesome teenagers. “You both know what you need to get. Try to stay out of trouble and message me if anything goes wrong. Remember: it’s better to walk away from a fight than to start one.”

“Yeah, yeah. We know,” says Keith, already antsy and rolling his shoulders. Actually, he might still be keyed up from landing for the first time. He also keeps trying to stop smiling.

“If you know that, then why am I always dragging you out of trouble?” says Shiro.

“Acquiring knowledge and applying it are two separate skills,” says Pidge.

“Well, doesn’t that explain some things,” grumbles Shiro while Pidge and Keith laugh at him. He’d throw them both out an airlock if he didn’t love them so much. “At least message me so I know where to look for you. And please try not to stab the security guards. They aren’t paid enough.”

“No promises,” says Pidge with a wicked grin.

Shiro sighs deeply and dramatically. He’s rewarded with Pidge’s laugh and Keith’s eye roll. And, just before they separate to their different ways, Keith touches Shiro’s shoulder.

“We’ll do our best. Okay?”

Shiro really doesn’t deserve these kids.

He reassures them of his trust in them, and they go their separate ways. Despite his warnings, Shiro really does trust them. Keith and Pidge are both clever and independent, and they might not always handle a situation the way Shiro would _like_ it to be handled, but they will be okay. Shiro trusts them to find their own solutions and then steps in before they can blow the situation entirely out of proportion.

Or he tries to, anyway.

Today they are at an old Alliance trading hub. It hasn’t been taken over by the Galra yet but has clearly suffered from the changing political climate. There are hundreds of shops up and down three levels and a reasonable crowd of patrons, but the neglect shows in smaller ways: chipped paint, grime on the walls, a fountain that has run dry and only has a clump of algae growing in one corner. As long as there aren’t Galra, though, Shiro isn’t complaining. It’s a bit of a vacation for Pidge and Keith, a chance for them to get off planet, although they both have lists of things they need. Shiro picks up items from his own list, but he also has a secret agenda.

Keith will eat just about anything, but Pidge is picky. They’ve found a few foods she likes and others she’ll eat (even if she makes faces at them), but still. Even if Shiro didn’t have to go through intergalactic-level negotiations on occasion to get her to eat, he wishes he could provide her with something that made her happy. And now he has an idea. Pidge has mentioned what she missed from Earth a few times. It’s difficult to find in space, but if anywhere will give him a chance, it’s here.

Which is how Shiro ends up in the condiment aisle of a dingy marketplace, looking for the best approximation of peanut butter.

Shiro has narrowed his choices down to two options. One tastes remarkably like peanut butter, but it’s dry and crumbly and Shiro knows Pidge is picky about texture. The other is smooth and tastes nutty at least, but not really like _peanut_ butter. Shiro hold a jar of each in either hand, debating, and is so focused that he almost misses the commotion that starts at the end of the aisle.

Almost. Except, well, Shiro’s brain doesn’t exactly let him ignore small changes in his surroundings anymore. He notices.

It sounds like a scuffle. Shiro intends to heed his own advice and avoid a fight, but he keeps his ears tuned to raised voices and watches out of his peripheral vision. The smoother texture one is probably the one to go. Pidge said she didn’t actually like _peanuts_ , right, so maybe the taste is secondary.

Then there’s a yelp, and it sounds _young_. Despite himself, Shiro turns around. At first all he can see are two large aliens. They’re lizard-like with horns or ridges and neither of them seem like the type to yelp. But when Shiro moves to one side, he spots another person, small and wiry—but certainly not quiet.

“—the Lancenator! Take a look at these guns! I’m like a ninja!”

Shiro has left the not-peanut butter and is approaching the group. He can make out the speaker now: another young teen (what are so many _doing_ out here?), pointy-faced and bristling with false buster.

The boy is holding his hands and bouncing like he’s an actor in a low-budget action film.

“I could take all of you! Yah! Ya—OW!”

One of the bigger aliens grabs the boy’s flailing arm and uses it to twist him around to smash his face into the display of bytor water. To the boy’s credit, he doesn’t immediately submit.

“Hey, what gives? We were just having a conver—” The boy finally falls quiet when the alien holding him hostage slugs him in the gut. Shiro sees his eyes well up, and the kid visibly fight back a whimper.

“We don’t need your mouth, laddie,” snarls the alien. “Now hold _still_ —”

Shiro clears his throat. Loudly.

He stands just inside the alien’s blind spot, arms folded across his chest, and wears the expression he remembers vaguely from standing down the other prisoners who wanted at Champion before they had to face him in the arena.

The alien is forced to turn awkwardly to see Shiro. The boy starts squirming, and the alien’s attention is redirected. Meanwhile his buddy advances on Shiro.

“This is none of your business,” snarls the horned one. Shiro recognizes the species: Rotfier. It’s rude to generalize, but the Rotfiers have a reputation. They’ve been backstabbing and trafficking since long before the Galra destroyed the Alliance. Shiro doesn’t want to think what they’re planning for this boy.

Nor does he intend to find out.

Shiro raises one damning eyebrow and stands his ground.

The Rotfier advances again. “Get out if you know what’s good for you.”

Shiro’s lips curl into a smile—one that’s vicious and not at all friendly—and leans forward.

“And what if I _don’t_?”

The Rotfier lunges. But he has no idea what he’s up against. His punch misses by a mile, Shiro already out of the way and moving. Shiro catches his fist on the return, twists, and uses the momentum to throw the Rotfier head over heels over his shoulder and flying twenty feet to smash into display of refrigerated space meat. To add insult to injury, the rows of sauces on top of the display become unbalanced and cascade onto the fallen thug, burying him.

Shiro turns to the other Rotfier, igniting his hand and letting the ominous hum fill the silence.

The Rotfier eyes Shiro’s hand. The plastic on the shelf beside it is starting to deform. Shiro bares his teeth. In this moment, Shiro is sure they speak the same language, and he knows what his expression says.

_However bad you think you are, I’m **worse.**_

A common thug is nothing against Champion _._

narling in the back of his throat, the Rotfier lets go of the boy and goes to dig out his companion, tail swishing angrily. Shiro lets him have his temper: they’ll be more likely to leave for good if they feel they get to keep their pride. Shiro doesn’t care just so long as they don’t come back.

Shiro is so focused on staring down the retreating cowards, he almost forgets about the boy they left behind until said boy grabs him around the arm, and it takes every bit of self-mastery Shiro has not to throw _him_ too.

“Dude!” cries the boy. Instead of looking nervous or shaken, his blue eyes are bright with excitement. “That was AWESOME! You were just all like—” The boy’s voice drops “ _Don’t mess with me_ —and then you freaking threw him like he was nothing! Where’d you learn to do that? Are you actually human? Wait, no. Are you the Terminator?”

Shiro blinks against the sudden onslaught of words. “Um. I’m Shiro,” he manages. “Who are you?”

“The name’s Lance,” says the kid, slicking back his hair and shooting Shiro finger guns of all things. “And I totally had them, you know. Just waiting for the right moment.” He finishes that with an exaggerated wink that is more like squinting with one eye while the other is half-closed.

“I…see,” says Shiro, not certain how much of this is false bluster rather than self-delusion.

“But, um. Thank you anyway,” says Lance, with a quick glance at the ground.

Ah. False confidence then. Well, it’s not like Shiro’s never used the ‘fake it until you make it’ strategy before. Though normally not this… _loudly_.

Shiro drops a hand on Lance’s shoulder and is surprised by how quickly Lance looks up, expression open and hopeful. “No problem,” says Shiro. “It can be dangerous in this part of the universe. Are you here alone?”

“No! Nope! Totally not. I’ve got like _loads_ people around!”

Shiro just stops and raises his eyebrows.

Lance’s shoulders come down. “I’m supposed to be with my family.”

“Did you give them the slip?” suggests Shiro.

“No!” cries Lance. “I mean, _maaaaybe_ I got distracted for one _itsy-bisty_ minute and didn’t really pay attention—but it’s not my fault, honest! And the hyper-drive stations are confusing anyway. Why are there so many languages?”

Hyper-drive stations are like the train stations for intergalactic travel. But they are only built in the hearts of civilization near the Alliance Hub. The nearest one is light-years from here.

“You were traveling with your family through a hyper-drive station?” confirms Shiro.

Lance nods. Some of his bravado fades away as he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “There was a whole evacuation thing going on. And I got on the wrong shuttle. I was trying to get back. I-I miss my mom.”

Shiro fights back the urge to seize the kid in a hug. That isn’t like him, but Lance looks so young and lost.

“I know someone who might be able to track where your family went,” Shiro offers instead. “If you come with me, we can find them and then figure out how to get you back to your family.”

Mercurial as ever, Lance immediately lights up. “You can do that? Yeah, I’m coming with you! Can you teach me how to do that throw thing too? How’d you get to be that awesome?”

Shiro intends to gently redirect, but somehow what he ends ups saying is, “Looking for tips?”

Lance puffs his chest up in mock outrage. “Excuse you! I’m already awesome!”

Shiro is as surprised as anyone when he bursts out laughing. But the pleased, beaming smile Lance sends him is worth it. It’s been so long…Shiro can’t remember the last time he saw someone simply that _happy_. Maybe not even back on Earth. It seems innocent and precious, and Shiro feels a bit like he’s tainting it just by existing so near, but Lance is beaming at him and hovering like a lost puppy. Shiro can’t tell him _no_.

So Shiro just gestures with his chin. “I’ve got a few things to pick up and then we can meet up with Pidge. You good for that?”

“Ten four!” chirps Lance, skipping into place beside Shiro. “What are you looking for?”

The rest is a shopping trip unlike any Shiro’s had before. Shiro wonders if this is what it’s like to shop with a toddler. Lance is incapable of being silent for more than two minutes together and jumps from topic to topic with abandon. When he isn’t trying to pry out where Shiro learned his “awesome moves” (a topic Shiro deflects relentlessly), he is commenting on local fashion, telling stories from his childhood, trying to add more items to Shiro’s list, describing his favorite shows, describing his _siblings’_ favorite shows, dredging up old family feuds… Shiro learns no less than three generations of drama from Lance’s seemingly endless family. Lance apparently grew up in one of the few human colonies outside the Terran solar system. His explanation of what causes the evacuation is a little muddled, and Shiro gets the impression that Lance didn’t really understand it in the first place. Whether that’s because Lance missed it or it was never explained well to begin with, Shiro doesn’t know.

By the time they return to the meeting place with the others, Lance has discovered Shiro used to be a pilot for the Alliance and his hero-worship has increased tenfold.

“—but never take human pilots! They always say we’re underdeveloped as a species. What cool moves did you pull off to show them? Oh, I was watching this show one time where this guy—I guess it was sci-fi but still—he did like a barrel roll inside of a double loop and like, all the enemies just smashed into each other trying to hit him. Can you do that?”

It’s not that Shiro doesn’t like Lance. He earnestly _does._ But he’s not sure anyone’s spoken to him continuously for this long. Ever.

Pidge is waiting for him underneath the defunct mall directory. Her backpack sitting beside her is bulging, and Shiro’s sure he spots at least a few pieces of tech that were definitely _not_ on her list but at least he hasn’t had to dig through the junk shops to track her down. She has her laptop out and only looks up long enough to register Shiro before turning to her code again.

“The mall infrastructure has updated maps of the local systems,” she tells him without looking away. “I’m uploading it into my model I built before… Anyway. I already added the data I scraped off your ship. If I get enough, I can start seeding a predictive program that will tell us where the Galra are most likely to show up and where to avoid.”

Shiro has long since learned that whatever Pidge says she can do, she can. He gives her shoulder a quick squeeze.

“You constantly amaze me with what you can work out, Pidge. Speaking of, there’s someone who could use a favor from you.”

“A favor?” says Pidge. Her nose wrinkles. “ _Here_?”

It’s true that she, Keith, and Shiro have sort of become their own unit and don’t really offer favors to anyone outside their own group. Shiro rather regrets that. He opens his mouth the explain, but—

“Hey! Get your hands off that!”

“Get _your_ hands off it!”

Oh no.

Keith has arrived, and Shiro recognizes his angry snap. He’s holding the bag that Shiro had dropped next to Pidge, but Lance also has his hands wrapped around the handle and they’re glaring at each other, engaged in a tug-of-war with the straining bag.

“This is _Shiro’s_! Hands off, Mullet!”

“If you know it’s Shiro’s, then are you taking it?”

“I’M not the—”

“Guys!” interrupts Shiro. He shoves himself between two bickering teens, taking the bag for himself, and placing a hand on either boy’s shoulder, holding them apart. “No one’s stealing anything here. Lance, I know Keith. He’s with me. Keith, this is Lance. He’s a friend.”

Lance narrows his eyes at Keith in deep suspicion. Keith responds by clenching his fists and glaring. Shiro bites down a sigh and gives each boy a little shake. “You’re both with me, so I expect you to at least try not to antagonize each other.”

Lance sighs dramatically. “You’re _friends_ with the Mullet?” he asks Shiro.

And Keith lunges forward, only slightly hampered by Shiro’s hand tightening on his shoulder. “Shiro found me first! Who are you? I live with Shiro. He’s _mine!_ ”

“Wait, no—” begins Shiro. “I don’t _belong_ to anybody…”

Pidge’s cackling laughter interrupts them. She pops up at Shiro’s hip, and unfortunately, her smirk says she isn’t interested in smoothing over the situation.

“What if I want Shiro to be _mine_?” she says, grinning toothily.

“Yeah, fine,” Keith waves her off. “He can be yours, too. But—”

“I don’t see why Mullet here gets to—”

“ _ENOUGH_ ,” orders Shiro. He’s not sure he’s ever had to raise his voice like that before, and all three of them turn to him, their spines suddenly straight. Well, Keith’s still slouching but it’s a more attentive slouch.

Shiro folds his arms and looks them over. “Last I checked, I belong to _me,_ and _I_ get to choose who I associate with,” he says sternly but hopefully not unkindly. “In this case, I care about all three of you, so I would appreciate it if you would stop attacking each other and focus on the matter at hand. Are we clear?”

Pidge shrugs, which is about as close to obedience as Shiro gets from her. Keith and Lance are still eying each other. Finally, Lance shrugs, an exaggerated movement that involves his whole body, and sticks his hand out.

“Fine. Truce?”

Keith hesitates, scowling. Shiro’s not entirely sure what’s got these two at each other’s throats so quickly, but he suspects that the accusation of thievery is bothering Keith more than he let on. Keith glances at Shiro, and his expression is an interesting combination of anger and a plea. Shiro doesn’t know what his face says in response, but Keith looks away before he can compose anything.

“Fine,” says Keith, ignoring Lance’s hand. “Whatever.” He grabs the bag from Shiro, slinging it over his shoulder with his own bag of shopping. “I’m taking these back to the ship.” He heads off without looking at anyone.

Well, that’s a problem brewing.

Unfortunately, Shiro doesn’t know how to solve it right now. His gut wants to go after Keith, but Lance is biting his lip, clearly scared that Shiro is going to ditch him and when did his life get this _complicated?_

“Lance, why don’t you explain your situation to Pidge? She’s my friend I told you could find your family. And pretty much the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

Pidge preens for a second at the praise but only a second. “You lost your family?” she says carefully.

“Well, it’s more like they lost _me_. I mean—” Lance breaks off and deflates. “Yeah. I lost them.”

Pidge’s eyes flick to Shiro like she expects him to have an answer.

Shiro puts his hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Lance’s family was evacuated from—What was the planet, again?”

“Ganoyama.”

“Ganoyama. He got separated from them in evacuation. If anyone can figure out where they ended up, it’s you, Pidge.”

Pidge hums, already typing on her laptop. “Ganoyama. Is that part of the Alliance?”

“Of course it is! We aren’t outlaws!” cries Lance.

“ _We_ are,” says Pidge with a toothy smile.

Shiro sighs, but before he can say anything, Pidge cuts him off.

“You’re an escaped prisoner,” she says. “That’s about as outlaw as it gets.”

Lance’s eyes light up. “You’re _what_?” He looks like Christmas came early, and Shiro feels sick to his stomach.

“Can we get back to the matter at hand?” he says somewhat tightly.

Pidge pushes her glasses back up her nose. “Yeah, yeah. Lance, was your evacuation because of the Galra?”

“Um, no,” says Lance. “Aren’t those the furry guys?”

Pidge pauses to stare. Shiro shakes his head at her. If Lance doesn’t know about the Galra—

Stars, but Shiro hopes he never finds out.

“Okay. Uh, that’s good,” says Pidge. She pokes around her computer for another minute and looks up. “I think we can find your family. The Alliance normally keeps good records. But, actually, the best way to track them would be to take advantage of the satellite connections here.”

She directs the last part at Shiro who does his best not to sigh. “Take advantage of the satellite connections” actually means “break into the security center and hack their communications.”

But she’s right: it almost certainly is the best way to help Lance.

And, well, maybe after being held prisoner for a year, Shiro isn’t really that great at bowing to authority anymore.

“Can you do it without being caught?” he asks.

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Obviously. And I can do it with Lance, too. I’m going to need him in order to build the search correctly.”

“Call me if you run into trouble,” says Shiro. “Or need a distraction,” he adds because he knows how these things go.

“You’re not going to come with us?” pouts Lance.

“Who needs Shiro?” says Pidge shooting a sunny smile at Shiro. She gathers her laptop in one arms and grabs Lance with the other. “C’mon. Have you ever hacked mall security before?”

Lance’s eyes go wide. “Are you like some kind of spy?”

Pidge’s smile is edging into the worrying side. “Better,” she promises. “Come on!”

Beaming, she pulls Lance along with her already jabbering about her plans while Lance gets more excited with every sentence.

Shiro…probably just made a big mistake introducing the two of them. He considers going after them, but Pidge would be utterly offended by him stepping on her independence. She’s smart enough to at least get out of any of the trouble she encounters, and Shiro has the sneaking suspicion she’s enjoying the chance to show off.

Besides there’s another matter to see to.

“Where’s your friend?” says Keith when Shiro arrives at the ship.

“Pidge has him.” Shiro explains Lance’s situation as they secure the supplies in the cargo hold. “So I wanted to help him out,” he finishes. “It’s just for a little while.”

Keith has been tying knots with undue intensity for the last five minutes. “No, it’s not,” he says.

“Um. It’s not?” repeats Shiro.

Keith huffs. He leads Shiro into the cockpit and pulls up the maps. He flicks to where Pidge had been looking on the trip out and points at the evacuation symbol. “That’s Lance’s planet, isn’t it?”

Shiro blinks in surprise. “Yeah. Good eye.”

Keith swipes the maps away. “It’s in the middle of Galra territory. You can’t go there.”

Shiro feels his jaw tightening. “If I have to, I will.”

“You can’t!” spits Keith. “If you go there, they’re capture you and torture you! You can’t do that again!”

The worst part is there’s a part of Shiro curdling in his stomach that thinks Keith might be right. He wants to say he’d be brave, but just the thought of being seeing the prisons again—back in the arena—of pain, of _—_

“…iro? Oh. I didn’t mean to—You’re safe, Shiro. I’m here. It’s okay.”

Shiro blinks rapidly, fighting down the panic that’s constricting his chest. That’s Keith in front of him. It’s okay. He’s _okay_.

“Sorry,” he rasps. Keith looks like he’s going to keep talking about it, so Shiro forces himself to stand straight and at least pretend like his heart isn’t still racing. “Look, this isn’t about…Lance is young, lost, and alone. You understand that, right? I don’t want to go back into Galra territory, but I will do what I can to help him.”

For some reason, Keith just deflates. “Yeah, okay. I get it.”

Shiro frowns. That wasn’t the reaction he expected or wanted. “Hey,” he says softly. “What’s up?”

But Keith shrugs off the hand on his shoulder. “Nothing. It’s…whatever. Okay? It’s fine.”

Something is clearly _not_ fine, but Keith has also clearly decided not to talk about it. It could be anything, but Shiro can’t help wondering…is it him? Has Keith finally figured out that Shiro’s damaged and not at all what he thought? Does Keith want to move on? Shiro had promised himself over and over again that he will never hold Keith or Pidge back—and he _won’t_ —but he can’t stop himself from feeling how badly he wants them to stay.

Keith especially. The first person to breathe any sort of light into Shiro after the Galra. If he’s decided Shiro isn’t worth sticking around for—which is understandable, it _is_ , and Shiro wouldn’t hold it against him for a second, except—

Except Shiro really does not want him to. Shiro’s living a lie, but he wants so badly for Keith to keep believing it. 

What kind of person does that make Shiro?

Shiro is seething in self-disgust and trying to hide it when Pidge and Lance arrive. Pidge has her laptop under one arm, and it takes Shiro less than a second to read the mood.

“What’s the news?”

“Well, we found them,” says Pidge, her tone trying but not quite reaching its usual brashness. “At least, I’m ninety-eight point five percent sure it’s them. But…”

Lance sinks into the copilot seat. “They’re in quarantine,” he says hollowly. “For the next twenty-five years.”

“Yeah, so apparently there was an outbreak of some virus on Ganoyama, and that’s what caused the evacuation,” says Pidge. “Except pretty soon after the evacuation, the rest of the system woke up and decided _they_ didn’t want the virus spreading either, so they put the refugees under quarantine. Like serious quarantine. Apparently, this virus is a really big deal for some species. They’re not even letting messages through; it’s locked down that tight.”

Lance has his lips pursed together and his head hanging low. It’s clear this is a blow to him, but he’s also doing all he can not to let it show. If he weren’t looking closely, or if he hadn’t met the bubbly and energetic version of him earlier, Shiro might not notice at all.

“Since he doesn’t have anywhere to go back to, I told Lance he could come home with us,” says Pidge. “That’s okay, right, Shiro?”

Shiro catches Keith’s eye, who immediately looks away, and something is _wrong_ , but that doesn’t change his answer.

“Of course.” He smiles and clasps Lance’s shoulder. “Welcome to the Lion House, Lance.”

And amazingly, Lance smiles back.

What Shiro hadn’t thought about, hadn’t had reason to consider really, was that up until that point, the Lion House had been home to three relatively self-sufficient and occasionally hyper-focused introverts. This is suddenly thrown into sharp relief because if there is one thing Lance is _not_ , it’s an introvert.

Lance wants to talk to people. All people. He has a bad habit of flirting with anyone vaguely feminine (Shiro has to drag him away the first time he meets Nyma before _that_ ends badly) and that’s a new and fun challenge for Shiro to navigate, but the extroversion doesn’t end there. Lance wants to talk to Pidge about all her projects. He wants to ask Shiro about literally anything. He wants to be around people at all times, and he and Keith—

Well.

Shiro hadn’t realized that it was possible to get into that many petty arguments. He would have thought they’d run out of subjects at some point, but no. They’re still going strong. Nothing is beneath their ability to argue. Lance seems to go out of his way to needle Keith, and Keith still hasn’t learned how to walk away from a fight. Pidge thinks it’s amusing and frequently eggs them on. And Shiro—

Shiro is starting to develop a semi-permanent headache.

It doesn’t help that even the Lion House seems amused by the rivalry and may even be contributing. There is _no_ reason why Lance’s favorite shirt should end up under the cushions of Keith’s couch (Lance has taken the third bedroom upstairs, and Keith’s still stubbornly keeping the downstairs couch. At this point, Shiro lets him). Shiro believes Keith when he says it wasn’t him, but Lance takes immediate—and _loud_ —offense and the ensuing fight lasts until Shiro sends both of them outside to scrub down every inch of the barn’s paneling.

Like with Pidge and Keith, Shiro wants to make sure that Lance knows how to defend himself on TK7526-38. Lance is an eager student: much more willing than Pidge and at least more vocally enthusiastic than Keith. The problem is that Lance is also insanely competitive, _especially_ with Keith, and where sparring sessions used to be rejuvenating, a time when Shiro could just focus on the present moment and Keith could get out some of his restless energy, now they are anything but. Lance constantly tries to one up Keith, and Shiro would be fine with that if it encouraged them both to do their best, but mostly it just dissolves into frustration and heated tempers on both sides.

The problems only get worse when Lance finds out about Shiro’s hover. Lance _loves_ the hover and _claims_ he was an excellent pilot at home though Shiro suspects more false bluster. Shiro would have no problem teaching Lance how to fly if he wanted to learn. The problem is that Shiro has already taught Keith and trusts Keith with most everything in the air. Which Lance notices because Lance is a people person who picks up on things like that.

And Lance is bright, but he’s more of a “try until you get it right” kind of pilot. Which is impressive in its own right. Truly. Shiro should be better, but he just _can’t_ get himself to let Lance take risks and wreck his hover. But Lance calls favoritism when Shiro allows Keith freedoms he doesn’t allow Lance, and Lance is too focused on showing off to really work on the basics when Shiro gives him the chance. Keith doesn’t help matters by bristling up and seeming to go out of his way to rub it in Lance’s face that Shiro trusts him more than he trusts Lance.

(Which isn’t _true_. Lance is a good kid, and Shiro’s seen a side of him that is incredibly generous and even mature beyond his years. Shiro absolutely trusts Lance’s _goodness._ Just maybe not his common sense.)

Perhaps the tension between Lance and Keith would simmer down if only Shiro could figure out what was bothering Keith, but Keith won’t talk to him about it. He won’t talk to Shiro much at all lately, at least not like they used to, and the distance is eating at Shiro. Over and over, Shiro tells himself that it’s okay if Keith wants to move on, but the thought nearly throws Shiro into a spiral of despair. Meanwhile, Lance is demanding more and more attention and he spouts out new ideas easy as breathing—they’re not all _bad,_ there’s just _so_. _many_ —and even Pidge has started to think Lance and Keith bickering is less funny.

Shiro can’t shake the feeling that he’s missing something, but with four of them in the House now, Shiro’s struggling just to keep everyone _fed_. Working odds jobs and bartering was all well and good with it was just him and Keith, or even him, Keith, and Pidge, but now Shiro stays up at night, counting the GAC they have, taking inventory of their food, and trying to think of how to tell the others that their next deep space flight will have to wait another week because they just can’t afford the time off.

Shiro juggles everything the best he can and curses the times his mental problems (which still won’t go away and why can’t he just pull himself _together_ ) cut into his already hectic life.

Maybe this would all be easier to handle if he and Keith could just _talk_ again, but Keith almost seems to be avoiding him and that stings like an open wound. The tension in the House keeping building, and Shiro can’t do anything because he’s too scared he’s losing his closest friend.

And then one evening, Pidge drags Shiro away to go dumpster diving for parts. It’s already been a long day, but when it’s Pidge, Shiro can’t say no. Oh, who is he kidding, Shiro can’t say no to any of them. Pidge has been prattling on her projects, and Shiro is trying to follow along, really, he is. It’s just so much easier to hold whatever junk she picks out and help her carry it back to the House.

“…and so then I was thinking if I repurposed the capacitors that would decrease the noise on the ground line, you know?”

Shiro blinks. “I…Sorry, Pidge. You lost me there for a second. Which project is this for again?”

Pidge’s shoulders sag a little, and Shiro feels like the worst human in existence even as she draws herself up again. “I want to reverse engineer one of those Galra scout robots. Then it could follow me around and take data and—”

“Oh, right. Your dog robot,” grins Shiro.

Pidge pauses. “Dog?”

“Hey, if it follows you around and wags its tail…”

“It does more than that!” laughs Pidge. Her eyes narrow. “And I know you can actually understand the science. I don’t get why you play dumb.”

Shiro stumbles, nonplussed. He’s not quite sure where the accusation of playing dumb came from. Sure, Shiro has never been exactly _bad_ with science—you can’t make it to deep space training without a thorough understanding of Newtonian physics at least —but he’s not Holt level. He certainly can’t keep up with Pidge. But he’s even more confused about this sudden _defense_ of his intelligence—and from Pidge of all people.

Shiro is trying to figure out how he could possibly respond to that when they reach the porch of the Lion House and Shiro is suddenly hit with a feeling of indescribable dread.

“Shiro? Are you—Um, do you know where you are?”

It takes Shiro a moment to realize Pidge thinks he’s having a flashback and shame eats at his insides. Bad enough Keith can pick up on his moods almost telepathically. Now Pidge is jumping to conclusions, too.

“Shiro?” repeats Pidge, her voice losing certainty. Shiro should be pulling every trick he knows to reassure her everything’s okay—that _he’s_ okay.

But the dread is settling like a lead weight on his chest, loud and insistent, and for the first time, Shiro understands what the rest of the planet means when they call the Lion House _haunted._

“Something’s wrong.”

“What?” says Pidge.

“Stay behind me,” says Shiro. He drops his armful onto the ground, gently but quickly, and sprints for the House, taking the steps up the porch two at a time.

“What’s going on?” pants Pidge, only a few steps behind him.

Shiro wishes he knew.

Somehow, he knows where he needs to go—though once he bursts into the House, it’s not that hard to guess. The presence of the Lion House is louder and angrier than Shiro has ever felt it, almost forming words: _This is unacceptable._

**_Cease._ **

Shiro whips around the corner just in time to see one of the kitchen cabinets burst open, its door drooping on its hinges. Ceramic mugs hit the floor and chip, handles breaking off. Shiro feels the House’s damage vibrate through his soul. But his attention is stolen by the fighting voices in kitchen.

“—because no one wants a stone-cold robot!”

“Oh, yeah? And how has being an emotional disaster worked out for you?”

“You’re just jealous because people _like_ me! No one wants to be around you! Even Shiro—”

And that’s when Keith swings. The palm strike he had been practicing with Shiro for months flashes with perfect form. Lance’s head snaps back, and Shiro yells, tripping over the spilled mugs.

Lance’s lip is split and blood wells up under his nose, but he’s been practicing with Shiro too and he’s tougher than he looks. He swings back.

“ENOUGH,” bellows Shiro, catching himself on a kitchen chair as he fights his way to the brawling boys. “Stop this. NOW.”

Keith and Lance play him no mind. Shiro takes a hit as he dives into the fight. He’s taller than the both of them, and he uses that to his advantage as he forces them apart. Shiro gets a good grip on Lance’s upper arm, and there’s a _zip!_ as Pidge’s grappling hook catches around Keith. Pidge uses the leverage around the kitchen table to pull Keith back. Clever, but her eyes are scared in her determined expression.

Shiro takes a deep breath and forces his voice to come out as measured instead of furious. “What the _hell_ is going on.”

“He started it!” cries Lance.

“Fuck you,” spits Keith.

Shiro clears his throat. “That’s not an answer.” And he has to look at Keith. “I taught you how to fight to defend yourself,” he condemns. “Not to use it against Lance.”

Lance opens his mouth, but Shiro digs his fingers into Lance’s arm and for once Lance falls quiet.

Meanwhile Keith’s face is whiter than Shiro has ever seen it.

“You’re seriously siding with _him_?!”

“I’m not taking sides,” says Shiro steadily. “But violence in this house is unacceptable.”

“You kinda whaled on him,” Pidge points out, and Shiro thinks she’s trying to be helpful, but the timing couldn’t be worse. Keith’s eyes dart between them, expression growing almost wild, before he rips himself out of Pidge’s grappling hook.

“Fine,” he snarls. “FINE.”

He throws Pidge’s grappling hook back at her and storms off but not before shooting Shiro one frantic—no, _hurt_ —look.

“ _Keith!_ ”

The slam of the front door seems to vibrate the Shiro’s soul. He lunges forward, but so does Lance and Lance stumbles.

“Shiro, I—! Ah! Oh _no_.”

Shiro catches Lance before he can crack his head on the kitchen counter, but neither of them can stop the great drops of blood dripping from Lance’s face.

“Shiro, what do we do?” says Pidge, sounding scared but trying very hard to hide it.

“Find Keith. Tell him I’ll deal with him in a bit.” Shiro holds Lance up by his upper arms, trying to get a better look at his face. “After I see to Lance.”

Pidge’s quick footsteps take off, and Shiro assumes she’s obeying. Lance, meanwhile, is trying to talk.

“Shirbo- _ro_. I dibn’t—”

“Tilt your head forward. You don’t want the blood going backwards and upsetting yours stomach.” Shiro knows his voice is clipped, but he can’t seem to manage better. With one hand he tilts Lance’s head the way he wants while with the other he grabs a mostly-clean dishcloth and presses it the wound to stem the flow of blood. “I’ll you some ice.”

Shiro turns to the fridge. Behind him, Lance’s voice comes out muffled but surprisingly clear.

"Are you mad?”

Shiro _wants_ to say no, to remain calm and say he’s just disappointed, but the truth… the truth is Shiro is _pissed_. Keith’s frantic hurt face flashes in front of his eyes, and he keeps seeing that moment when Lance’s head snapped back and for one terrifying second he had been afraid that Lance was hurt beyond anything he knew how to fix. Shiro doesn’t know who he’s furious at—Keith or Lance or himself—but it boils hot in his chest, lashing at his tongue and it’s all he can manage to keep it locked inside where it belongs.

His silence on the matter must be enough of an answer, though, because Lance wilts. Shiro wants to reassure him, but the anger pounding at his lungs won’t let him.

Shiro sets the ice he dug out on the counter and takes Lance’s face in his hand. “I’m checking for fractures. Tell me if this hurts.” He uses his natural hand, worried about the lack of sensitivity if he used his Galra one. “Are you feeling any dizziness? Nausea?”

“Um, maybe yes to the dizzy?”

“Okay.” Not a good sign. Lance could have a concussion. But at least his nose and jaw seem intact. Shiro grabs a new cloth since the one Lance is holding is filthy with blood. He wraps the ice in it. “How’s your nose doing? If it’s slowing down, you can start icing your lip.”

Lance bristles. “I’m fine!”

“No, you’re not,” Shiro snaps. He regrets it as soon as it’s out of his mouth. Cursing himself inside his head, he takes the bloody cloth from Lance and hands back the one with ice. “Here.”

Lance takes the ice, fire still in his eyes. “I really didn’t start—!”

Shiro exhales loudly.

He has to bite the inside of his cheek to check the angry words he knows Lance doesn’t deserve. But they beat against his tongue, taking all of Shiro’s self-control not to burst out.

“I know Keith punched first,” he says, harsh and measured but it’s the best he can do. “That’s on him. But you’ve been nettling him every chance you get, and do you really think that makes you entirely not at fault?”

Lance seems to shrink a little under Shiro’s glare. Still, the fight hasn’t left him completely. He rallies once more. “But Keith’s _annoying._ ”

And all of Shiro’s patience whooshes out of him at once.

“Keith. Is. My. Friend _,_ ” snarls Shiro. “And seeing as you both live here, you better figure out a way to live together.”

Lance’s fight dies just like that. He looks down and it’s hard to tell behind the blood and the ice pack, but his bottom lip seems to be trembling. Shiro’s stomach drops. He knows he overstepped, but before he can correct it, Pidge bursts in.

“Keith’s gone!” she pants, skidding into the kitchen. “His stuff on the couch is missing, and I looked everywhere I could think of, but I can’t find him!” There’s a wild look in her eye. “I tried, Shiro, really I did!”

“I believe you,” says Shiro automatically over the palpitations of his heart. _Keith’s gone_ repeats like static and white noise, fuzzing his mind and leaving an aching feeling in his gut.

“Um, I could help you look.” Lance’s voice is small. “More people would help, right, Shiro?”

“ _No,_ ” Shiro snaps and immediately recoils. _Damnit_ , that hostility is for himself, not Lance. He forces himself to breathe slowly.

“You’re injured and might have a concussion, Lance. The best thing you can do is take some pain meds and rest.”

“But Keith—”

“He might just need some time to cool off,” says Shiro, despite the voice in his head crying _He’s left!_ “You, rest. I’m going to put the kitchen back together.”

“Do you want help?” asks Pidge.

“Yeah!” adds Lance. “I can—”

Frustration wells up, sudden and unwanted. Shiro _knows_ he has two brilliantly good kids who only want to help and somehow that just makes it worse.

“No,” he snaps. “Frankly, I’d appreciate not having the opportunity to yell at anyone right now.”

Both kids flinch. That aching feeling has turned into outright self-loathing.

“Just…Go. Take care of yourselves.”

_Get away from **me**_ , he means.

“Pidge, help Lance find the pain meds.”

“Yeah, I—I can do that.” Her voice is small. Shiro turns his back on her, furious with himself. It’s a relief when they finally leave. At least he can’t hurt them anymore.

Shiro works on aggressively cleaning the kitchen. His emotions form a hot, constricting ball in his chest. Try as he might, he can’t force it down. The Lion House is silent in his head, and Shiro can’t help but wonder if it’s disgusted with him as well.

Keith doesn’t come back.

Shiro finishes the kitchen. Still filled with restless energy, he remembers the parts he had collected with Pidge and goes to retrieve those.

When he gets back, Pidge herself is waiting in the doorway. She looks anxious and pale, and Shiro feels sick with guilt. None of this is her fault but she’s been caught in the middle of all it.

“Keith still isn’t back?”

Shiro hands over her parts and shakes his head.

“The weather algorithm I stole from Thace says a sandstorm is supposed to start tonight.”

Oh, no wonder she looks so worried. Sandstorms on this planet are serious business. Shiro looks back out at the desert where clouds gather menacingly on the horizon in front of the dying sun. It’s not a matter of waiting Keith out anymore.

Shiro sets his jaw. “I’ll go looking for him.”

“You’ll bring him back, right?” says Pidge, and it’s a mark of how bad the day has been that she thinks to ask at all.

Shiro smiles with a confidence that’s entirely fake. “Of course.”

Shiro almost wishes the hover had been missing. If it was, maybe Keith was just flying out his frustration: teenaged Shiro had certainly used that method numerous times. But instead the hover hums beneath him as he speeds over the desert, headlights spilling over the rocks as darkness falls, and as for Keith…

Shiro had done a cursory sweep around the Lion House, but Pidge had already looked and Shiro has a suspicion of where Keith has gone. If he’s wrong…well, he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it. But if he’s right, he has a lot of distance to cover before the sandstorm hits.

He’s not entirely sure where he’s aiming—he’s only been there once—but he has the basics of a map in his head and the instincts that always seem to guide him when he’s in the air. He slows when he gets close, swinging the hover so its headlight sweeps over the crags and rocks until he spots—

There.

Shiro’s heartrate jumps to three times its regular speed, and his fingers clench tight over the handlebars. He forces himself to exhale in a long, steady stream.

_Patience yields focus._

Shiro parks the hover and approaches on foot. Without the headlights, the rocks lose their color and small divots appear as giant obstacles in the shadows. The sun has set, but there’s still faint yellow and green scattered over the sky above the clouds. If need be, Shiro figures he can just light up his hand and so pushes forward.

It’s the boulder-made-lean-to where Shiro had found Keith that first day on the hover. Keith is curled up with his knees against his chest between boulder and the rock wall and not looking at Shiro. It seems impossible he had missed the massive roar of the hover engines, so Shiro decides he didn’t.

“Hey.”

Shiro’s too tall for the space Keith has found and doesn’t want to invade, so he hovers slightly hunched over in the entryway.

Keith’s eyes flick to him and away again. “Here to lecture me,” he says in a flat, inflectionless voice.

Shiro has the nagging feeling he’s supposed to lecture—something about being the adult here—but that doesn’t feel _right_. The moment doesn’t fit and, despite the violence being _wrong,_ Shiro still holds too much respect for Keith for that.

“What happened back there?” he asks instead.

Keith scowls, doesn’t look at him, and shrugs.

“Keith…” wheedles Shiro.

“Doesn’t matter,” grunts Keith.

“Seriously, kid?” says Shiro folding his arms. “That’s what you’re going for?”

Keith shrugs, sharp like a twitch. “It _doesn’t_.”

Shiro has patience but not for this kind of crap. If Keith doesn’t want to stay around _fine,_ Shiro will be fine (he _will_ ), but Keith’s going to have to _say_ that.

“Something’s been bothering you,” says Shiro. “What is it?”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” explodes Keith, one of his hands whacking the stone wall when he throws it. Shiro winces with him but doesn’t back down.

“No,” he says steady and focused. “I’m not.”

Keith curls up over his knees. He looks like the cornered kid Shiro had first met again, not the vibrant young man Shiro has come to know and respect.

“Keith, you know—I _hope_ you know that whatever you need to say, I’ll listen.”

Keith sulks down even further. “Just like you’d do for anyone else.”

That… doesn’t make sense.

“What?”

“Forget it,” says Keith with another twitch-like shrug. “I just thought—” He cuts himself off.

Shiro takes a step forward. Keith’s pretty bad at keeping his emotions inside once they’ve started to leak. Shiro just has to wait him out.

“I was stupid,” says Keith bitterly.

“Whatever you thought, I promise it wasn’t stupid, Keith.”

"You called me your brother,” Keith says almost an accusation.

“I—yeah,” says Shiro, thrown by the sudden change in topic.

Somehow, that seems to make Keith angry. His knuckles turn white against his knees.

“Maybe that doesn’t mean anything to you,” he hisses. “But it meant something to me, okay? I don’t—I don’t _have_ family, you know. Even my dad…I mean, he was there. He tried, but he wasn’t—He _tried_ —”

Keith got to his feet at some point. He digs his hands into his too long hair. “I-I thought this was something different. That I could believe you.”

And Shiro’s chest shatters. “You can believe me,” he croaks desperately. “If I’ve done something or said something—”

“I thought we were like brothers!” cries Keith. “But you’d do that for anyone, wouldn’t you? I’m not special.”

“Keith! What do you mean?”

The heartbroken expression on Keith’s face is almost more than Shiro can handle. “I’m just your charity case. You picked me up because you have some stupid savior complex about saving everyone. Like Pidge. And _Lance_.” Keith’s voice crackles on the last word, and he looks like he’s blinking back tears.

Shiro is horrified, blindsided, gutted. It’s so not what he expected and not _true_ that his mind goes blank.

“You’re not my charity case,” he protests, voice weak.

“You would do the same for anyone who showed up hungry on your doorstep. You have this obsessive need to take care of everyone.” Keith’s shoulders hunch in. “You don’t need _me_.”

And Shiro finally knows what to say.

It takes him some effort to finally get the words out. Shiro’s never one to open up about this kind of thing and then there’s this new part of him, a souvenir from the arena sizzling under his skin that insists he _can’t_. But Shiro’s never backed down from what needs to be done before, and he doesn’t intend to start now.

“I was lost.” He leans his back against the cold stone wall. He forces himself to look at Keith even if he can’t maintain the eye contact. “Earth already wasn’t home, not really. That’s why I left. But then I spent a year as a gladiator for the Galra, and if Earth wasn’t home before, it definitely wasn’t now and everything else was just…gone.”

Shiro swallows because he’s not sure it’s any better now. He’s still a broken soldier, a primed weapon with bloody hands and a shattered mind. The only difference is…

“You think I don’t need you? For weeks you were the only thing I was living for. You still are, in some ways. I…” Shiro exhales. “I need you.”

The admission feels too raw, too weak and leaves an ache in his chest.

Keith inches a step closer. “Why?”

“Why?” Shiro exhales with a snort. Possible answers flicker through his mind. _Because you’re brilliant. Because you remind me of myself. Because I need someone who believes that much in the good in me because I’m not so sure it exists anymore._

“Because you’re my brother, Keith. That means something to me, too.” There’re more words, but Shiro’s so used to keeping them locked up tight that they can’t come out now even if he wanted them to.

Keith studies him, eyes liquid dark, almost black in the dim light. He must see something Shiro didn’t intend because some sort of deep sadness fills his expression. “Oh.” He closes the distance between them and places a hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he says. “I forget sometimes.”

Shiro has no idea what Keith thinks he forgot. He’s not sure he wants to know. He pushes forward. “I’m sorry for making you doubt that you’re important to me.”

Keith takes his hand off Shiro’s shoulder and looks at the ground, shuffling his feet. “It’s just… _Lance_.”

“You didn’t seem to have this problem with Pidge,” suggests Shiro gently. He’s not trying to contradict Keith; he just wants to understand.

“I thought it was just because you knew her family. And Pidge is… Pidge. She fits.” Keith is still staring at his boots, expression working as he clearly fights to express himself. “Lance is loud. He’s always interrupting and trying to prove that I’m bad at everything. And it seems like you’re not—we’re not doing stuff together anymore.”

_Oh._ There’s deep hurt in Keith’s voice, and Shiro finally recognizes it for what it is. He suspects Lance has a different narrative, but at least he understands what Keith is seeing.

“Like sparring?” suggests Shiro.

Keith scuffs his toe in the dirt. “I mean, we still do that, but it’s not—” He stops.

“It’s not one-on-one,” finishes Shiro. Keith looks at him with a such a combination of desperation and hope. How had Shiro missed this?

“That used to be our time,” continues Shiro, putting the pieces together. “I don’t think Lance meant to, but he kind of invaded, didn’t he?”

Keith looks like he’s going to faint as he nods.

Shiro hooks his arm around Keith’s shoulders and pulls him close. Keith doesn’t cry, he’s too stubborn for that, but he presses his head against Shiro’s collarbone and he’s trembling.

“Oh, kiddo. I’m sorry.” Shiro presses his face into Keith’s inky hair. “We can make that our time again. I’m not pushing you out, okay? I want to spend time with you.”

Keith’s arms come up and squeeze around Shiro’s middle. It’s stupid, how much this kid has become his rock by now.

“And you can ask too. If you want more from me, you can always ask. Anything. I can’t promise I’ll always be able to, but I will try my best.”

Keith nods against Shiro’s shoulder. “I know. That you’ll try.”

“And that you can ask,” repeats Shiro. He’s missed Keith so much, and it feels like he’s going to sink into the ground any minute now in relief. Keith pulls away, and Shiro meets his eyes again.

“Are we good, then?”

“Yeah,” says Keith. “We’re good.” He frowns. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Shiro pauses. “Well, you’re going to have to apologize to Lance. That wasn’t okay. But I’m not mad. Just next time something’s bothering you, tell me, okay? I can’t read your mind, but I promise to listen.”

“I—yeah, okay,” says Keith softly.

“Oh, and Keith…” Shiro ruffles Keith’s hair, pushing his head back so he has to look at him. “Even if there’s another person in the House or I care about more people, that doesn’t mean I care about you any less. You’re still brilliant and wonderful and the first person I had when I had no one. Nothing’s going to change that or how much that means to me.”

“Okay,” says Keith stronger this time.

“Ready to go home?”

Keith smiles and leads the way.

The sandstorm kicks up just before they reach the Lion House. They wrangle the hover into the barn—Keith flying and Shiro wrestling the heavy barn doors—and then make a break for the House, jackets wrapped around their faces in a feeble attempt to protect themselves from the sand. The wind is really howling now. Keith reaches the House first, Shiro two steps behind him. He holds the door open—or more like tries to and nearly gets blown away. Shiro grabs Keith with one hand and the doorjamb with the other, and using his greater weight and the superior strength of his Galra hand, he manages to drag the door shut with both of them inside where they promptly collapse in a tangle of dust and exhaustion.

“All right?” says Shiro, glancing over. Keith is covered in fine red sand like a bad sunburn.

Keith looks over at him—and starts laughing.

“What?”

“Your hair is pink!”

“What!” Shiro touches his bangs and winces when sand falls into his eyes. “Well damn.”

Keith cracks up like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. And with the leftover adrenaline and Keith back— _he’s back! he’s back!—_ Shiro dissolves into senseless laughter, too.

He’s laughing so hard he almost misses Lance spot them from them bottom of the stairs and run back the way he came.

Almost.

Keith’s back to normal (well, as normal as Keith ever gets) come morning. Shiro wakes him up early, and although Keith starts out drowsy and droopy, he brightens with the sun as they go through Shiro’s mostly remembered gym routine from the Garrison together—push-ups, lifting, running, and finally sparing. They don’t say much, but words have never been the most important thing with Keith. Their elbows brush accidentally when they run together, and that’s enough. By the end, Keith’s cheeks are red, but his eyes are bright and his shoulders are loose. Shiro thinks this might work—early mornings with Keith when Shiro can’t stand to try to sleep anymore and Lance and Pidge won’t be up for another hour.

It makes Shiro feel better, too. He’s missed this, an early morning exercise routine, and maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that it works for Keith as well. Pidge is drowsing on the kitchen table when they come in and blinks a few times, moving like a kitten that’s just opened its eyes, until she spots Keith and then she’s up from her spot and crashing into him with a rib-bruising hug.

“Idiot! If you’re going to do something stupid, don’t run away in the middle of sandstorm!” she yells. “What if you got silicosis? It’s practically incurable and SUCH a stupid way to die!”

Keith shoots a terrified look at Shiro, who just smirks and backs into the kitchen, hands up in a “Nothing I can do” gesture. He starts rifling through the fridge, not bothering to hide his snickers at the awkward way Keith is patting Pidge’s head while she berates him on the dangers of inhaling fine dust particles.

Frankly, it’s nice not to have to be the one lecturing for once.

Shiro finds the leftovers of the rice-like grain they had last week, cracks an _azwukezi_ egg over it, and calls it good. He leans against the kitchen counter, eating his egg-and-space-rice breakfast. Keith joins him by the fridge, closely flanked by Pidge who is still lecturing him—or just enjoying listing out all the slightly morbid facts she knows. Could go either way with Pidge.

“Save me,” groans Keith.

Shiro just raises his eyebrows. “Oh, you want more reasons why running away to be a desert hermit is a bad idea?”

Pidge cracks up and Keith rolls his eyes and yeah, they’re back to normal.

Except not because just then Shiro realizes Lance has entered the kitchen. He has a box of those cereal flakes that taste like beef, and he is _quiet_. His eyes keep darting from Keith to Shiro and then back to his cereal. Shiro frowns. But then Keith turns around with the milk and spots Lance.

“Oh. Hey,” he says.

Lance gives a bright, fake smile. “Hi.”

Keith is holding the milk protectively in front his chest, like a fencer on guard. Or a shield. Hopefully a shield.

“Sorry for, um, punching you,” says Keith.

Lance waves his beef flakes carelessly in the air. “No worries, dude!”

…maybe Lance is just trying to be _nice_?

Pidge sits at the table with the space peanut butter and a spoon. “You’re all idiots,” she declares, digging into her peanut-butter-only breakfast, and maybe they’re okay.

No, Shiro decides three days later, they are _not_ all okay. He and Keith are okay—early morning work outs turned out to be a rare stroke of genius—and Lance and Keith aren’t at each other’s throats all the time anymore, but that’s more because _Lance_ isn’t around as much anymore. At first Shiro thinks he’s just paranoid and imagining it, but slowly he realizes this isn’t all in his head.

Lance is avoiding him.

And Keith to a degree. But mostly Shiro. He won’t meet Shiro’s eyes anymore and darts out of rooms with falsely cheery smiles without warning—mostly when Shiro starts conversations with Keith. Even when Lance is in the same room with them, Shiro can see Lance practically jittering with the effort to stay quiet and it feels _wrong_. He tries to talk to Lance about it, but Lance proves to be better at redirection than he gives him credit for, and the conversation is over before Shiro quite registers what has happened.

But, well…subtlety still isn’t Lance’s strong point. Shiro has left Keith to clean out the fridge (It’s an unspoken agreement between them. They both know Shiro won’t throw out anything if he’s left in charge no matter how rotten, but if Keith just _happens_ to make it disappear… And Shiro still has his stashes in his room that not even Keith knows about). Shiro’s task is to inspect Pidge’s room. Pidge has (mostly) acquiesced to leaving her science projects to the laundry room, but the mold that grows on the mugs and bowls she forgets to bring back to the kitchen might be radioactive, and Pidge has a tendency to bring home any “pets,” both organic and robotic, that she thinks are cute—not of all which have been harmless. Shiro will, if pressed, admit that he outright _shrieked_ when an oversized, winged scorpion dropped from his ceiling. That was the day they learned Shiro’s hand doubled as an electric flyswatter, and Pidge has at least made an effort to keep her adopted pets on the non-venomous side since.

Still. Shiro makes a point of regularly inspecting Pidge’s room. The loaf-like “trash creatures” Pidge keeps bringing home have been fine. The fuzzy rocks that turned out to be eggs of some sort of spider/crab mix were not.

(Shiro’s not actually sure what happened to those, but whenever he thinks about it, he gets a sense of smug satisfaction from the Lion House, like winning a game of chess or finishing a very tasty meal. He’s not sure he wants to know.)

So Shiro raps on Pidge’s doorframe, doing his best impression of a puffed-up junior officer. “In-spec-TION!”

Pidge, who is on the floor with Lance poking at some game on her laptop, leans back on her hands and grins upside down back at Shiro, not even remotely a responsible cadet. “But we already _had_ one last week,” she wheedles. “Can’t we skip this one, _pleeease_?”

“Nope. Not gonna work,” grins Shiro. He walks into the room and nudges Pidge with his foot. “Show me what weird junk you’ve collected this week.”

Pidge would normally be smirking and teasing him right back, but as soon as Shiro enters the room, Lance pops up like a piece in whack-a-mole and skitters toward the door, hands flailing.

“Hey, I’m just going. No need to worry. Already gone. See? You won’t even be able to tell I was here.”

Shiro frowns, mystified and dismayed. “Lance, you don’t need to—”

“Nope, I’m gone! Gotta do—that thing. Yep. Super important! Bye!”

One of the papers flies off Pidge’s desk. By the time it makes it to the ground, Lance is long gone. Shiro stares at the empty doorway, trying to figure out what he missed, what he’s doing _wrong_ —and then he spots Pidge.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Pidge is poking halfheartedly at the keys on her keyboard, but her expression is torn. She looks at Shiro, then the doorway, then back at her computer. And maybe Shiro would be willing to drop it, but he’s recently learned the danger of letting things fester.

“Hey.” Shiro clears out a place to sit facing Pidge. He pulls one leg up, the other stretching in front of him, and leans forward so he can see into her face. “Pidge,” he says seriously. “You’re upset about something. What it is?”

“I’m not _upset_ ,” she qualifies, but she’s still frowning and looking troubled.

“Did I do something to hurt you?” says Shiro, blunt but gentle. Mentally, he stiffens his spine. He hates the idea that he could have hurt Pidge, but if he has, he will hear it and take responsibility for his actions.

Pidge whips around at him. “No!” she cries. “You—You _couldn’t_!”

Shiro raises an eyebrow because that isn’t remotely true.

“You haven’t done anything,” repeats Pidge. “You—You’re _Shiro._ You haven’t hurt me.”

“But I’ve hurt someone else,” surmises Shiro. His stomach curdles. “This is about Lance, isn’t it?”

Pidge takes a moment to answer. “…Yeah.”

Shiro exhales. “Pidge, if you have insight into what’s going on, I’d appreciate it if you would tell me.”

“Oh,” says Pidge. “But…don’t you know?”

“If I knew, do you really think I would keep intentionally hurting him?” His voice comes out sharper than he means. Shiro exhales, trying to reign his emotions in. “Sorry,” he says. “That was harsh. I don’t want to hurt any of you.”

“We know that!” says Pidge immediately.

Shiro chews back a lot of sharp and bitter words before he comes up with something acceptable to say. “It seems lately I haven’t been succeeding at that.” He speaks carefully, each word chosen to be honest without revealing too much. “And I am sorry about that. I have tried to do my best by you, but I—” This is so hard to get out. “You all deserve better. I’m so sorry.”

Pidge is silent, mouth part open, and Shiro realizes he’s putting his issues on her and that isn’t fair.

He scrubs his hands over his face. “I—No. This isn’t your problem. I’m sorry. It’s not your responsibility to take care of me. But I need to know what I’m doing wrong so that I can fix it.”

Pidge blinks at him, slow and owl-like. “Oh. Keith was right,” she says, almost to herself. “I didn’t see it, but Keith was totally right. Weird. I mean, not Keith being right. That happens. But _woah._ ”

“Um. What?” says Shiro.

Pidge shakes her head, her bangs falling into her face that she blows impatiently away. “Shiro, you know we’re all really grateful you took us in, right?” she says. “Like really, _really_ grateful. You didn’t have to do anything you’ve done, but you did it anyway and you mean a lot to us.”

It takes everything Shiro has not to collapse over his knees and say _No. I keep fucking it up._ He draws on years of military training from his teen years, keeping his back ramrod straight as a drill instructor reamed him out. _“No, sir, I don’t know anything about the extra flight hours logged on the simulator…”_

_"_ There’s still something very wrong between me and Lance,” he says professionally as he can manage.

"Yeah, but I think I know what you’re missing now,” says Pidge. Compared to earlier, she seems downright cheerful. She sits cross-legged and turns her whole body to face Shiro, not even giving cursory attention to her computer. “I can help you out.”

For a moment, Shiro wonders if he should let her. He’s the adult here. But what kind of person is he if he assumes he knows more just because he’s older? That seems insupportable. Just because he shouldn’t be Pidge’s responsibility doesn’t mean he shouldn’t listen to her.

Shiro turns toward Pidge, giving her as much focused attention as she is showing him. “All right. Explain it to me.”

Pidge pushes her glasses up to bridge of her nose. “Okay, so basically, Lance has this huge hero-worship celebrity-crush-complex _thing_ with you.”

“I— _what?!_ ”

“C’mon, you _know_ you’re the only person from Earth to fly for the Alliance. Lance was freaking out when he figured out you were _the_ Takashi Shirogane. And then when you met him, you apparently saved him from a life of misery and, like, judo flipped some alien across a store. So yeah, you’re basically his hero now. Congratulations.”

Shiro scrubs his hands over his face. “Okay. That’s…weird. I thought I was done with that when I left the Garrison, but okay. I can get that.”

Shiro’s a little mystified how that hero worship survived first contact with his screaming nightmares or the moments when just an unexpected touch can throw him into a flashback, but okay. So Lance’s hero worship is unusually hearty.

(It’s not actually that surprising. One of Lance’s best traits is his boundless optimism. It’s just also terrifying.)

“I feel like there’s a connection I’m still not getting,” says Shiro.

Pidge rolls her eyes. “So Lance is stupid desperate for your approval. And…” Here, Pidge sobers a bit. “And he thinks he doesn’t have it.”

“Oh.”

Now that it’s pointed out, Shiro can see how that would have come across. He never _meant_ it—he just worries about Lance and, yeah, Lance is the newest one and that one who’s skills and common sense he trusts the least, but that’s not the same as not _approving_ of Lance. He loves Lance, and he sees so many incredible things in Lance—most of which, like creativity and the ability to warm to others and just let _go_ , Shiro is well aware that he is devoid of himself.

“Lance talks a lot about how to get your attention and make you realize how ‘crazy impressive awesome’ he is. His words.”

“… _and_ that’s why he and Keith kept going at each other,” Shiro puts together. If Keith thought Lance was taking Shiro away and Lance was competing for attention—yeah, he can see what was going on now.

“I thought that was just boys being stupid,” says Pidge.

Shiro snorts. “Well, some of that too.”

“Keith wanted you to think he was awesome?” says Pidge, sounding confused. 

“He thought I was forgetting about him,” explains Shiro.

“Oh.” Pidge rearranges her legs so her knees are against her chest. “I guess I can see that.”

A thought hits Shiro, sinking in his stomach. “Pidge…I know integrating Lance hasn’t been smooth. Have you felt forgotten too?”

Shiro is just starting to realize just how poorly he’s done by these kids.

But Pidge shakes her head. “No, I get it. I’ve had a brother before. Even an annoying one.” Pidge’s voice lilts at the end, trying out an old humor that doesn’t quite fit yet.

Shiro waits. He and Pidge hardly ever speak about Commander Holt and Matt now, and Pidge seems to go out of her way to avoid it. Shiro doesn’t want to bring it up if she doesn’t want to talk about it, but he doesn’t want her to think he’s forgotten this part of her either.

“You’re okay then?” he says, hoping she realizes he’s talking about both their situation right now and her family.

“Yeah,” says Pidge. “I mean, I guess there was a time when it was kind of hard. But then I realized you kept trying to get me food I liked and you still dragged me to bed every night and helped me every time I asked. So I looked and saw even though you had a bunch of other stuff you were doing, but nothing had changed. Not really.” Pidge shrugs. “And like I said, I’ve had to share before. I got that you didn’t care less just because you were busy.”

The relief Shiro feels to hear her say this makes him a bit lightheaded. At least _one_ of them knows he cares, even if he didn’t do a good job of it.

“I do care about you. So much,” he says. “You mean the world to me. I’m sorry I haven’t spent as much time with you lately.”

“You’re spending time with me right now,” says Pidge, and for once, her smile doesn’t have a hint of sarcasm or mischief in it. She smiles at him like she’s honestly, genuinely happy Shiro is here with her.

It hits Shiro somewhere low in the gut. He doesn’t know how he found these kids. They’re so _good_. He wants to protect that so bad, and he’s afraid he’s their biggest threat.

“Anyway,” says Pidge. “That’s what’s going on with Lance. You kind of came down pretty hard on him after that fight, and he’s…well, he thinks you chose Keith.”

Shiro doesn’t _want_ to choose either of them, but that is a private complaint, not worth dwelling on. “You’re right,” he says instead. “I was too harsh on Lance. I need to apologize. I meant to but then…” Then Lance started to avoid him like the plague, and Shiro thought maybe it was best to give him time.

…Though look how well that worked out with Keith. Wow, Shiro _sucks_ at this.

“Hey.” Pidge kicks Shiro’s shin. “I told you what’s up. Now thank me for my brain and my awesome insights.”

Shiro smiles despite himself. “You _have_ been spending a lot of time with Lance, haven’t you?”

Pidge just grins.

“Thank you, though,” says Shiro. “I mean it. I really appreciate you taking the time to explain how I screwed up.”

“I don’t think you screwed up,” says Pidge, surprisingly soothingly. “I think sometimes we just forget you don’t know everything. That isn’t your fault.”

She smiles at encouragingly him, and Shiro boggles, trying just to _imagine_ a version of himself that inspires this kind of confidence not only in Keith but also skeptical, hyper intelligent _Pidge._

“Thank you. I think,” says Shiro, voice soft and chest uncertain. He still doesn’t understand how Pidge can be this _okay_ with him—especially after calling him out on exactly where he’s failing.

“Cool. Good talk.” Her voice is flippant, but her smile is softer than usual.

Shiro rolls his eyes. “Good talk,” he repeats. He starts to get up, but then he catches Pidge’s posture and the slight smirk that has reentered her expression and sits right back down again. “ _But…_ you still aren’t getting out of inspection.”

“Ugh, I was so close to making you forget!”

“You know, this was going to be just routine, but now I’m getting suspicious.”

Pidge flops backwards dramatically on her floor with a long groan, and Shiro gets to work searching the room for whatever dangerous thing she’s hiding from him this time.

Shiro considers carefully how to approach Lance. He doesn’t want to let this fester, but he doesn’t want to unintentionally make it worse either. Ulaz had asked for some of their _azwukezi_ eggs, so Shiro sends Keith and Pidge with a half dozen wrapped up. This has the advantage of keeping them busy without anyone feeling left out. Indeed, Keith’s chest swells when Shiro asks him if he feels comfortable flying the hover on his own. Shiro sees Lance hovering by the Keith-Pidge duo and clasps a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve got a task for you. Care to give me a hand?”

Lance whips around to Shiro, clearly not expecting to find him there. Shiro feels a little bad: he hadn’t meant to sneak up on him. Lance’s eyes dart from Shiro to Keith and Pidge and back again. “Uh, yeah. Okay!”

“Good man.” Shiro slaps his shoulder, and Lance stumbles. Whoops. “Get your boots.”

“Yeah, I’ll—on it!”

“And you two,” adds Shiro just before Keith and Pidge escape out the door. He gives them a stern look. “Don’t end up in jail.”

“When have we ever ended up in jail?” says Pidge innocently.

Shiro just raises his eyebrows. “Would you like that in chronological order or an alphabetized list?”

Pidge concedes with a theatrical eye roll.

"Just do your best, okay?” says Shiro. “And have fun.”

Both grinning and clearly excited by this independence, Keith and Pidge take off at the same time that Lance skids into the entryway with his boots.

“So what’re we doing then, boss?” Lance looks around and when he realizes it’s just him and Shiro, his shoulders come in a little and his movements get less exaggerated. He looks nervous. “Is there a problem?”

"Not a problem,” assures Shiro. “Just a project I’ve been putting off for a while, and I’d like some company. Also, your boots are probably going to work better on your feet than in your hands.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Lance scrambles to shove his feet into the boots. His eyes keep flicking to Shiro, and Shiro pretends that Lance’s discomfort around him isn’t cutting.

As they set out, Shiro explains the task. At some point, Shiro had noticed half-buried markers occasionally around the Lion House. They are often set with some kind of crystal and have writing in a language that Shiro can’t read. Still, Shiro gets the impression they were important once. He thinks maybe they marked the boundary of the lands around the Lion House and might have something to do with how the House has avoided being ravaged by animals and scavengers. If they can find the rest of the markers and figure out how they work, maybe they can figure out how to use them to protect themselves.

If nothing else, these might be a hint to the history of the Lion House which Shiro will admit he wishes he understood more.

“Okay, so we wander around the desert and look for shiny stuff. Cool.” Lance doesn’t sound like he thinks it’s all that cool.

“And keep an eye out for the rhino-lizards,” says Shiro. “We don’t want to be caught unawares by those either.”

“Oh, yeah. Those.” Lance _definitely_ doesn’t sound enthused now. The rhino-lizards haven’t scared Shiro since the first day, and with just the two of them, Shiro doesn’t have to worry about Lance running off. He’s not worried, but he gets why the idea isn’t appealing to Lance.

There is, of course, another motive to all this: to get Lance alone without making it a Thing. Cornering him in the House felt too formal and heavy handed. This gets Lance out of their normal context and has the added benefit of specifically picking Lance out for something.

Even if Lance isn’t that excited about it.

“Besides it’s a chance to just be in the great outdoors,” says Shiro and then cringes. Could he _sound_ any more like a stereotypical dad? Next he’s going to be saying it “builds character.”

Lance looks at Shiro, at the orange and red rocks they’re tromping through, and back at Shiro. He tilts his head. “You actually like it out here, don’t you?” he says, sounding surprised and a little amazed.

“I—yeah.” Shiro hadn’t really thought about it, but now that it’s brought up—he shrugs. “It reminds me of home.” Or rather, it reminds him of the only part of Earth that felt like home: the giant, windblown cliffs and water-carved canyons of the American Southwest where Shiro would lose himself when it was all too much and he just needed to escape. It was the closest thing he could get to the feeling he got from space.

“My home isn’t like this,” says Lance.

“Oh?” Shiro chances a glance. “What was it like?”

“Most the planet is water. We were by the ocean, and we used to go to the beach _every day_. It normally storms in the afternoon, so we’d get up early to sneak to the beach before school. One time my brother and I lost track of time, and my mama had to swim out to where we were out with our surfboards to tell us to get our asses to class.” Lance smiles then frowns like he can’t decide which expression he wants to keep.

“Do you miss it?” prompts Shiro.

“Yeah, of course,” says Lance easily. Shiro is a little stunned by this easy admission of feelings but then he remembers this isn’t Keith. Or even Pidge. Lance rolls his shoulders back. “Oh, hey! I found think I found something!”

And Lance scampers off. Hm, maybe Shiro should reevaluate his opinion re: Lance’s willingness to confront feelings.

Lance holds up a white gold antenna. “Is this what we’re looking for, Shiro?”

“Not quite. The markers are more bronze colored. We should keep it anyway. I’m sure Pidge will find it interesting.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Course she will, crazy gremlin.”

It’s said affectionately, so Shiro doesn’t comment it on. Instead he takes the antenna and puts it in one of his pouches.

“Is there anything we can do to help?”

Lance actually stumbles over a protruding rock. He catches himself and scrambles upright, apparently unharmed, so Shiro pretends he doesn’t notice.

“What?” says Lance, dusting off his hands on his jeans, eyes wide and a little shocked.

“Is there a way we can help with your homesickness?” says Shiro.

Lance still looks a little stunned. He wraps his arms around his waist like a self-hug. “I mean, no? Pidge already explained why I can’t go back, and my family wouldn’t even be there if I did.” Lance bites his lip and looks away.

“I’m sorry,” says Shiro.

Lance stops to look at him, expression hard to make out which is supremely out of character for Lance.

Shiro suddenly realizes he’s doing this completely backwards. He should have led with the apology, made it perfectly clear that he understands what he did, that he regrets it and won’t do it again. He’s about to open his mouth to do just that, consistent conversation topic be damned, but Lance beats him to it.

“You remind me of my cousin,” he says.

Man, this kids never stops surprising him. “Uh, is that a good thing?”

“Duh,” says Lance. “He was older than me, and I used to follow him around _everywhere_ but he didn’t get sick of me, you know?”

Shiro swallows. “Lance, I—”

“And I don’t know if he’s okay now. I mean, he probably is. Right? That’s what Pidge thinks, but we don’t _know_ and I keep thinking of all these awful scenarios that probably aren’t true but we can’t _prove_ it. I keep wondering if—” Lance stops. His hands flutter for a second before he shoves them in his pockets. He turns around so that he’s facing Shiro although his eyes keep darting everywhere.

“I…” Suddenly, he looks directly into Shiro’s eye. “I wonder if they even miss me.”

“ _What?_ ”

Lance throws his hands up. “Because I’m the dreaded middle child, and I’m not all that special or good at anything. Anything I can do, someone else can do better, and so like…what does it matter if I’m around? It’s not that I think they don’t _like_ me, but—you know those friends you have fun with for like a summer but once they’re gone you don’t really think about them? What if that’s what I am? What if they don’t even notice I’m gone?”

“Lance, _no_ ,” says Shiro. “It doesn’t work like that.”

Lance shakes his head. He rubs his eyes where tears are welling. “But I can’t figure out—I mean, why? What do I even have to offer? Why _wouldn’t_ they forget me?”

“Because you’re _Lance_ ,” says Shiro. “Hey, look at me, okay, kiddo.” Shiro waits until Lance looks at him and bends down so that they’re at eye level. “You’re hardworking and giving and can light up a room just by being in it. You bring so much, and even if you didn’t, _it doesn’t work like that_. Your family misses you because you’re family. You don’t have to be anything more than that.”

Lance’s lips are trembling. “But-but I got lost and—I know there are reasons and all, but—”

Shiro puts both his hands on Lance’s shoulders, leaning forward. “Your family hasn’t found you or contacted you because they _can’t_. That’s it. They miss you. They want you to be with them.”

Lance looks lost. “I want to believe that, but…”

“Do you want to know how I know it’s true?” presses Shiro. “I know because that’s how _I_ feel about you. _I_ would miss you if you were gone. I have missed you these past days when you’ve felt like you can’t be yourself around me.”

Lance stares at Shiro, tears still bright in his eyes. Shiro doesn’t know how to convince this kid that he’s loved, especially when Shiro’s done such a bad job at it.

But yet again, Lance surprises him.

“Can I have a hug?”

What.

“It’s-it’s just, it’s been really hard. Being without my family. And n-not being able to even talk to my mom or—”

“Of _course_ ,” says Shiro opening his arms.

And suddenly, he has an armful of shaking, crying teenager. Lance’s fingers dig into the back of his shirt, and Shiro tucks him under his chin and wraps his arms around him to keep him upright.

“It’s okay,” Shiro soothes as Lance cries. “I’m sorry. I think we sort of forgot you were suffering because you seem so cheerful, but of course you are. I’m sorry. Of course it’s hard.”

“I miss _home_ ,” cries Lance, and all Shiro can do is hold him up and rub circles in his back.

“I know. I’m so sorry we can’t get you back.”

“What if I never see them again? What if something happens and—and—”

Shiro cups the back on Lance’s head with his hand, pulling him closer. “I can’t promise that nothing will happen, but that doesn’t mean something _will_. There’s still a very good chance you’ll see them again.”

“In twenty-five years,” chokes Lance. “That’s—I haven’t even _lived_ twenty-five years.”

Shiro doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t really have that much more on Lance in that area. And at some point, he started to think not in terms of the future but of surviving to the next day. Twenty-five years feels like an eternity compared to that.

“I’m sorry,” he says instead. “I wish there was a way to make this better. I just don’t think there is.”

Shiro rocks them both until Lance takes a deep breath and pulls out of the hug a little.

Lance wipes at his eyes. “No, that isn’t true,” he tells Shiro with a small smile. “Talking to you helped. It’s nice to hear that…that it’s real and that I’m not just overreacting.”

“Of course it’s real,” says Shiro, a little shocked. “And I don’t think there’s a way you _could_ overreact about this. This is your family.”

Lance nods. “Yeah. No, you’re right. But sometimes things just build in your head and get so tangled you start to feel crazy, you know?”

Shiro does know, though he hadn’t quite put it together like that. Except in his case, he’s afraid that the darkness lurking his head actually _has_ made him crazy. Or at least, broken him in some fundamental way.

“You’re not crazy, Lance. You’re just human. And love your family.”

“Thanks,” says Lance. He scrubs his face. “Holy smokes, I did _not_ plan on crying in front of you today.”

“I don’t think less of you,” says Shiro softly. “I will never think less of you for that.”

Lance sort of chokes on a laugh. He’s fiddling with the ends of his jacket, and Shiro thinks maybe it’s best to give him a moment to compose himself. Even Lance has his limits on emotional vulnerability it seems.

Lance starts trudging on their made-up path again, and Shiro follows him. He tries out his words numerous times in his head before finally speaking.

“Lance…”

Lance immediately looks back at him, and Shiro swallows.

“Whoever you consider family and how you want to think about that—that’s entirely your choice. And there will never be any pressure. But both Keith and Pidge have decided they’re siblings, and I want you to know: that’s an option if you ever want it.”

Lance blinks rapidly. “Oh. O-okay.” He sounds a little in shock.

“You don’t have to make a decision right now. Or ever. I just wanted you to know.”

“I—Yeah, no. I get it.” Lance smiles. “Thank you.”

Well, Shiro did promise that there was no pressure and he will keep that promise and swallow his disappointment that Lance didn’t take him up on it. That doesn’t change any of Shiro’s duty to him.

“Also, you said talking helped?”

Lance seems surprised the conversation is still going. “Yeah. It did. Um, did you have more talking you wanted to do?”

"Only if you want to,” says Shiro gently. “I won’t push you. I just want you to know that you can come to me. About anything, but especially your family. I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep it all inside.”

“Oh. Yeah,” says Lance. He seems to be actually thinking about Shiro’s words which is gratifying. “I mean, sometimes…sometimes I do want to talk about them. But other times I just really, really do _not._ You know?”

Shiro snorts. “Yeah, I think I know,” he says. His lips twist. “I’m afraid you’ve found a group of people who all fall pretty far on the ‘not talking’ side of things.”

“Ugh, I _know!_ ” complains Lance. It’s the most Lance-like thing Shiro has seen in days, and it warms his heart.

“That bugs you?” says Shiro, somewhat surprised.

“I mean, I don’t want to get all nosy, but do you guys talk about feelings? Like, _ever_?” Lance waves his hands. “Whatever. I get it—that’s how you guys work. It’s just _bizarre_.”

Shiro frowns. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at. But I hope you understand that that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to us about how _you_ feel.”

“Yeah, no, nope. I’m getting your message loud and clear,” grins Lance.

Funny enough, that doesn’t make Shiro feel better. “Are you sure?” he presses. “I had the impression that you actually weren’t so clear on that.”

Lance waves his hand. “Yeah, yeah. But it’s all cool now.” He catches the look on Shiro’s face and makes a face. “Oh man, you are not going to let this go, are you?”

“I hurt you,” says Shiro, guilt hot in his chest. “I didn’t handle your fight with Keith well, and I entirely missed what you were struggling with. I wasn’t there for you, and I deeply regret that.”

Lance stops and tilts his head. “Yeah, but see that’s just it,” he says. “You feel bad about it. You didn’t mean to do it. So yeah, it’s all cool.” Lance’s eyes narrow, and he looks Shiro up and down in a way that leaves Shiro feeling horrified and vulnerable. “Wow,” he says suddenly. “You really want to drown in guilt about this, don’t you?”

Shiro accidentally falls back into his military posture. “I need to take responsibility for my actions.”

Lance is still looking at him, too insightful, too sharp. “Okay, so look at it this way,” he says. “Pidge _maaaybe_ gave me a heads up about this conversation—”

Damnit, Pidge.

“—and I was going to let you go through the whole apology thing because I thought I needed it, and, uh, I kinda thought this conversation was going to go _completely_ different.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sheesh, stop apologizing for _five seconds_ , Shiro, and just listen will you?” says Lance, hands on his hips.

Shiro is brought up short: he’s rarely called out like this.

Lance waves his hands around. “So yeah, things sucked for a bit. And I…was kinda in a not-great place. But then you brought me out here and made me realize that a lot of what I was feeling wasn’t even _about_ you. It was my family. And you actually managed to help with that, too. You’re just… _Shiro._ I thought I wanted groveling, but actually this is way better. I…” Lance pauses before continuing in a quieter tone, “I don’t think anyone’s ever cared this much about me who wasn’t family.”

Shiro has no idea what to say to that.

Lance’s smile turns soft and almost… _understanding._ Which is impressive because Shiro doesn’t understand at all.

“What am I supposed to say to that?” continues Lance. “Thanks, but I’m still mad? Nah, I’m from a huge family—I learned how to forgive. I’m not mad anymore. Or hurt, really. I just needed to be reminded a little is all.”

Everything in Shiro is screaming that this isn’t how this _works._ He doesn’t get to be forgiven this easily. It doesn’t feel right. He was expecting a dressing down and instead he got…compassion? Understanding?

But Shiro is aware that refusing Lance’s generosity is equally as bad. So he focuses on what he _is_ sure of:

“I know you said you’re nothing special, but I think that couldn’t be any less true,” he says with utmost sincerity. “You’re good at this.”

“Um, talking?” says Lance.

Shiro snorts and shakes his head. “No, feelings. People. Forgiveness.”

“Oh,” says Lance. “But anyone could do that.”

Shiro reaches over and gently shoves Lance. “Don’t sell yourself short,” he orders. “It’s a skill and a rare one at that. Most people couldn’t do what you just did, and you excel at it. In my book, that makes you pretty incredible.”

Lance is blushing hard now. Well, Shiro hadn’t meant to embarrass him, but if that gets the focus off Shiro and impresses on Lance just how wonderful he is, Shiro will take it.

They go back to looking for markers. For a time, they are quiet, just two people hiking through the desert. Lance’s eyes are sharp, and although they haven’t found any markers, Lance does find three more mystery objects for Pidge. He is spinning one around his fingers—some kind of multistrand bungee cord—when he looks over at Shiro.

“Hey, um. Can I ask you a question?”

Shiro shrugs. “Sure.”

“What exactly happened to you?”

Shiro locks up. He nearly loses his balance and topples over before he forces his muscles to move again.

Lance continues like he hasn’t noticed. “Like, with your arm and face and everything. Oh crap, that sounds super rude! I swear I didn’t mean it like that!” Lance looks at Shiro in a panic.

“It’s fine,” says Shiro despite feeling anything but.

Lance squints like he’s not sure he should believe Shiro. Finally, he starts again, slower. “It’s just Pidge mentioned some stuff. And Keith was…really Keith about it. So like I know something happened, but I don’t really _know_ , you know?”

Shiro forces himself to breathe. He owes Lance the truth. He reminds himself of that. No matter how much he wants to ignore it or pretend it never happened, _he owes Lance the truth._

“I was held prisoner by the Galra Empire for about a year,” he says, voice formal and stiff like he’s delivering a report. “I was forced to fight in their gladiator matches, often to the death. I survived, but I don’t remember a lot of it. The arena is probably where the scars come from. I don’t know why I have this arm, but I suppose it’s not surprising it’s a deadly weapon.” Shiro closes his Galra hand into a fist, unable to stop the bitterness from leaking into his voice.

Lance’s eyes are very wide. “Oh.”

“That’s all I can tell you, I’m afraid,” finishes Shiro. “Like I said, I can’t remember most of it.”

“Yeah, no, that makes sense,” blabs Lance. He bites his lip. “Pidge said something about gladiators, and at first I thought it was cool, but it wasn’t, was it?”

“No,” says Shiro heavily.

Lance nods, his expression troubled.

“If you are no longer comfortable here or around me in light of this, I understand. We can find you somewhere else—”

“What? No!” cries Lance. “I don’t want to be anywhere else! Why would you think that?”

Shiro shrugs, his shoulders big and stiff. “I’m dangerous.”

Lance actually gapes. “You’re… Okay, yeah, I _guess_ you’re dangerous. To like rhino-lizards and space pirates and you have that rivalry thing going on with Lubos, pretty sure he’s terrified of you. But that’s all to protect us. I can’t imagine you actually being dangerous to _us_. You’re…You’re like our space dad!”

“Space dad?” repeats Shiro skeptically.

“Yeah!” says Lance, warming up to his subject. “Cause you keep track of all of us and bail us out of jail and you _totally_ have the ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ face down!”

“You realize that I’m not even close to thirty, right?”

Lance, predictably, ignores him. “Oh man, oh _man_ , it totally works! Like, Keith is the older brother who’s trying too hard to be like Dad. And Pidge is totally the youngest and the favorite. I guess I’m still the problem middle child. Couldn’t escape that one.”

“You’re not the problem child,” protests Shiro. “And I don’t have favorites.”

Lance just grins. “Sounds like something a dad would say.”

Shiro wants to argue, but he’s pretty sure that would just make things worse. He groans instead, and Lance beams at him. Lance is hard to stay mad at—or even mildly annoyed at—for long. Shiro reaches over and ruffles his hair.

“Whatever you say, kid.”

Instead of scowling like Keith or Pidge would, Lance looks delighted. He ducks under Shiro’s outstretched arm for a hug.

"Thanks for letting me stay with you,” says Lance.

Shiro drops his arm around Lance’s shoulders, bemused but fond. “Of course,” he says. “I’m sorry for any time I’ve made you feel unwelcome.”

Lance shakes his head. “I told you, I forgive you for that. What’s the point of you still holding onto it when I don’t?”

Shiro doesn’t actually know what to say to that. He looks down at the kid under his arm. “That…is actually really insightful,” he says.

“What can I say? The Lancinator is a genius!” says Lance, complete with finger guns, and he’s so exuberant that Shiro laughs. Lance seems to be delighted by that outcome.

“I guess I should listen to you more,” says Shiro, only half joking.

“Definitely!” Lance’s eyes are finally unclouded as he wiggles out from under Shiro’s arm. He starts walking again but backwards so he can keep looking at Shiro. “So I do have one more question.”

"Shoot,” says Shiro who has realized that hiking with Lance won’t include the quiet contemplation that comes with Keith and is largely okay with that. 

Lance’s expression has once again become too sharp. “So these markers we’re looking for,” he says, grin tugging on his lips. “Are they actually a thing or was that just an excuse for you to corner me?”

Yeah, so Lance is definitely sharper than he gives himself credit for and is constantly throwing Shiro off balance.

Shiro’s glad to have him around anyway.


	4. Hunk

After three intensely emotional conversations with his teenagers in one week, Shiro doesn’t trust things to just “work themselves out.” So he calls them all together at breakfast the morning after his hike with Lance.

“Is this some sort of family council?” says Pidge, arranging her laptop so she won’t spill milk on it as she scrolls and eats her cereal at the same time.

“Could we please not have your laptop open for this discussion?” asks Shiro.

“What’s a family council?” says Keith wandering in, hair still dripping from his shower after early morning sparring with Shiro.

“We’re having a family council? What’s wrong? What happened!” Lance comes skidding into the kitchen after Keith.

“Something’s wrong?!” says Keith alarmed.

“Family councils only happen when there’s something super serious going on, like if someone died or we have to pick up and leave or—”

“GUYS,” interrupts Shiro. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “No one has died. Nothing bad has happened or is going to happen.” Probably. “I just wanted to talk to all of you together.”

Lance eyes him suspiciously. “Still sounds serious though,” he says edging into a chair at the kitchen table.

Keith sits across him on the edge of his seat, toes pressed against the floor, ready to make a run for it. Pidge clatters her spoon against her bowl.

“Do I _really_ have to put away my laptop?”

"I would prefer it,” says Shiro. To his surprise, Pidge groans like he made a winning argument and actually shuts it.

“So, uh,” Lance sounds nervous. “What’s the problem?”

“There’s not a problem,” Shiro reiterates. “But I know this past week as been rough. I’ve talked to each of you individually about it, and I hope that you understand whatever pain I’ve caused has been entirely unintentional—”

"Shiro, that’s not—!”

“We don’t think—!”

“You better not be beating yourself up again,” Keith all but growls.

Shiro blinks against the sudden onslaught. “Of course not,” he says to Keith. “But I recognize that things haven’t really been working lately. I want to have a conversation about expectations and particularly where I can do better. What do you want from me?”

Shiro is met by blank stares. It’s a fair question, he thinks. He has screwed up, but he knows these kids well enough to know how brilliant they are, so he wants their feedback. He gets that it might take a minute for them to gather their thoughts, but it’s vital that they understand that.

Shiro couldn’t stand it if they don’t speak up because they are afraid of him.

“Um. I have something I want,” offers Lance into the silence.

“Yes, Lance?”

Lance glances around at the other two, the beginning of a grin twitching on his mouth. “I want Shiro to stay in charge.”

"Oh yeah, definitely,” says Keith, sounding almost relieved and agreeing with Lance for perhaps the first time in his life.

“Duh,” says Pidge. “Who else is going to be?”

“That’s…gratifying,” says Shiro, trying to squash the little spark in his chest at their response. “But that still doesn’t solve the problem.”

Pidge pushes her glasses up her nose. “You’re the only one who seems to think there’s a problem, Shiro,” she says. “What do _you_ think we should do?”

“Oh yeah, I totally want to go along with Shiro’s idea!” says Lance.

“Seriously?” says Shiro. “I want you guys to have some say in this.”

“We do have a say. We’re saying we want to listen to you,” smirks Keith.

Shiro gives Keith an exasperated look, and Keith just shrugs.

“Everything I know about being a family comes from you. So.”

“You _what?_ ” explodes Lance. “You know what? Never mind. Not the topic at hand. All in favor of listening to Shiro?” He thrusts his hand in the air, as does Pidge. After a quick beat, Keith copies them.

Shiro looks over the three votes of confidence (Keith looks like he doesn’t actually know what he’s doing but is determined to be in on it), and his chest fills with warmth.

“Tell us what we need to do,” says Keith like a challenge.

Something old and forgotten bubbles up in Shiro’s chest. Faded dreams from years ago when he was still delusional and starry eyed and dreamed of leading his own crew.

Shiro had never anticipated a crew of three too-smart teenagers. But he had dreamed _._

“If this is going to work, we’re going to have to work together,” he says. He remembers the idea of the team he wanted to build and slowly a vision is taking form. “You are each brilliant and capable of incredible things. I’ve seen that. But being brilliant in isolation isn’t enough.

“I—” Shiro swallows. “I would love to be able to take care of everything and everyone, but that just isn’t working. I can’t do it on my own. I need all of us to support each other.”

Shiro expects disappointment and betrayal at his admission, but his words have the opposite effect—they sit up straighter, and their eyes light up. Shiro suddenly remembers that when he was a teenager, he didn’t want someone to protect him: he was desperate for someone to take him seriously and let him prove what he could do.

Oh. Maybe relying on these kids _isn’t_ a mistake? Maybe Shiro isn’t being selfish if he’s letting them see his faith in them. And Shiro _does_ have faith in them. They’re going to grow into absolutely incredible people, he can see it.

“That means we can’t have infighting,” he says, growing sure of himself in a way he hasn’t been since he crash-landed on TK7526-38. “If there’s an issue—and I recognize there will be issues—you bring it up and we address it. You can address it among yourselves or you can bring me in, but we _will_ address it. No more letting things fester. We’re a team here, and that requires open communication. Is that something you can sign on for?”

All three kids seem to have grown a few inches in the last two minutes. “You bet!” says Lance at the same time Keith surprises them all with, “Yes, _sir!_ ” Even Pidge gives a sharp nod, eyes bright.

“And for the record, I expect feedback from you as well. Just because I’m the adult doesn’t mean that I’m always right. When I make a mistake, I want to hear from you.”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” says Pidge. “We know you will listen to us.”

“You’re the only one who _does_ ,” says Keith.

Lance, bless him, seems to be thinking. “Um, so, this whole thing is basically saying we need to take responsibility for our actions, right?” he says.

Shiro tilts his head. “Essentially,” he allows, unsure of where this is going.

Lance blows out his lips in a dramatic sigh that encompasses his entire body. Once he has finished deflating into his chair, he says, “Sorry for being a jerk and picking fights with you, Keith.”

Keith looks like a deer caught in headlights. “Oh.” Shiro is ready for this to go very badly, but then Keith shoulders comes down. “Uh. Sorry I was kind of an asshole. And punched you.”

Lance starts to grin. “Well, guess you can’t get fairer than that,” he says. He sticks his hand out. “Friends?”

Keith just stares.

“Uh, dude, are you seriously swerving my friendship right now!”

“You’re just pointing your hand at me! What am I supposed to do?” demands Keith.

“Have you never seen a handshake?!”

Pidge starts cackling. “Keith was a feral desert hermit until Shiro adopted him. That’s why he and Shiro get along so well.”

“I— _what?_ ” says Shiro.

Meanwhile, Keith has dived forward and taken Lance’s hand—but at the wrong angle, so that their elbows are on the table, hands clasped between them.

“Yes, Keith,” drawls Lance. “You definitely complete a handshake by starting an arm wrestle.”

“Fight! Fight!”

“ _Pidge!_ ” chides Shiro.

“I don’t know how to do this!” says Keith, embarrassed and getting more aggressive to hide it.

“Don’t worry. We’re good. I’ll totally take the arm wrestle of friendship,” grins Lance. He slips his hand out of Keith’s and shoots finger guns at him.

Keith throws his hands up. “What are you _doing_?”

“All right,” sighs Shiro. “This family council is clearly over.” He pushes his seat back. “I’m going to get breakfast. Just remember we’re all on the same side from here on out, okay?”  
  


With hindsight, Shiro feels he really should have seen what was coming.

At first, the “family council” as Pidge dubbed it seems to work. Lance’s boisterousness comes back, and although Shiro has to have a few talks with Keith about being allowed to walk away when it gets too much (and occasionally just having to drag the kid away himself), in general everyone gets along. Keith and Lance’s bickering hasn’t stopped exactly, but it has lost most of its vitriol, and Shiro even suspects he’s seen them seek out each other’s company, though he doubts either of them would admit it. And this all nicely coincides with discovering Lance’s hidden talent.

They’re at Thace and Ulaz’s bungalow. The day before, Keith and Pidge got badly sunburned (Shiro avoided it primarily by refusing to wear anything that displayed more than his left hand and part of his neck—and having the good sense to wear a hat). Shiro begged a favor, and Ulaz is preparing a salve that should be safe for human skin. Meanwhile, Lance is dancing through the ramshackle mess of equipment and blasters in their backyard while Thace complains to Shiro about the pests that are invading his garden.

"Blasted little _midduks_. The rodents come into our garden and eat all the roots. They’re fast, too, dead difficult to hit. And would you look at that, there’s one right—”

_Blam!_

Shiro jumps at the noise, has his hand up and almost ignited when he spots Lance.

“Uh, sorry,” says Lance rapidly placing the blaster on the ground like he can pretend he didn’t do anything at this point. “You probably don’t want me playing with guns, do you?”

Shiro raises his eyebrows because _Yes, duh. Does he actually have to say it?_ But then he looks at where the shot went, and—

“Wait. Did you actually hit it?”

“Yeah? I think so.”

Thace trudges over to the garden and nudges the _midduk_ with his foot. “Yep. It’s dead. Clean shot.”

Shiro looks at Lance, who just shrugs but certainly doesn’t look _surprised._

"Lance, that’s seriously impressive. Why didn’t you mention you know how to shoot?”

Lance shrugs. “It didn’t seem like a big deal. You guys never use guns, and you were all about self-defense.”

“You think a blaster can’t be used for self-defense?” says Shiro incredulously.

“Um… you didn’t mention it?” says Lance. He waves his hands. “And besides, you keep going on about what if we’re unarmed or something!”

“Well, it’s certainly a good idea to have a handle on hand-to-hand combat,” Shiro allows. “But that’s also just what I know. It’s what’s easiest for me to teach you. If I knew you already knew how to shoot like that, I’d have encouraged it a lot more.”

Lance’s eyes are getting big. Funny, the kid will brag all day, but hit him with the fact that he’s apparently a _crack shot_ and he suddenly acts all surprised.

“Really?”

Shiro snorts. “Ranged weapons are a huge advantage. Not just in self-defense. You could help us out a lot in the field if you can hit a moving target like that.” He smiles. “That wasn’t just chance, was it?”

Lance wavers for a moment, but then he draws himself up. For once, his bearing is _confidence_ not bravado. “Nope,” he says. “Not a chance.”

Shiro clasps Lance’s shoulder. “Sounds like we need to get you a blaster.”

“He can keep that one.” Thace has made his way over, dead _midduk_ in one hand. “I don’t use it.”

Thace actually has a large collection of blasters on hand that he never uses. Shiro suspects there’s a backstory there, but he doesn’t ask.

Lance lifts the sleek rifle. He acts causal, but Shiro notices the careful way he handles the barrel—never pointing at Thace, Shiro, or himself. He’s been trained, it seems.

“Thanks, Thace!”

Thace waves away his gratitude with a grumble. “Let’s get back inside. Ulaz should be done fussing over your little ones by now.”

“Little ones?” repeats Shiro warily, thinking that if either Keith or Pidge hear themselves referred to as “little” he’s going to have a fight on his hands.

Thace pauses. “Children. Offspring. They’re yours, right?”

Shiro goes red. Lance starts snickering. “Keith and Pidge are not my kids,” says Shiro uncomfortably.

“Not according to Luxia they aren’t.”

“ _Space dad_ ,” Lance stage whispers.

Shiro groans at Lance. “You’re not going to let that go.”

“Nope!” sings Lance. “Let’s go show Keith and Pidge my new blaster and tell them they’re your ‘little ones.’”

Oh no. That won’t go down well. Shiro darts after Lance to stop the ensuring disaster.

And although Shiro has to put Lance in a headlock to prevent him from saying anything that would get him beat up by his shorter pseudo-siblings, they leave Ulaz and Thace’s without major incident. At that point Shiro is still relatively optimistic. Lance’s new ranged weapon is an immense help in the field, and he’s an even better shot than Shiro had first suspected. Having a “thing” (and, yes, having a thing that Keith doesn’t because Keith’s aim is just… _bad_ ) seems to help settle Lance, leaving him less prone to over-the-top posturing, and that in turn soothes some of his relationship with Keith. The more comfortable Lance becomes with himself, Shiro figures, the better off they’re all going to be.

And that’s true…to a point. And this is where Shiro really feels he should have known better.

See, Lance and Pidge have always gelled. There’s something about Pidge’s desire to poke and prod at everything and Lance’s incessant need to pry reactions out of people that slots together easily and finds its match. As Lance finds his place and doesn’t spend his energy fighting Keith, that circuit closes and the similarities transform from a connection to a vivacious feedback cycle. Every idea Pidge comes up with, Lance is one hundred percent down to go along with. And every whim Lance dreams up, Pidge can wrangle into reality.

Which is great in terms of their fast-formed friendship. It is _hell_ in terms of Shiro’s “Oh no, they’re going to get themselves killed” panic.

To make things worse, Keith and Lance get along now and Keith was already a partner in crime with Pidge, so now Keith gets dragged into the duo’s schemes. And Keith contributes in what seems to be the only way he knows—by upping the intensity to eleven.

Shiro got his wish: they work together. But what they build together is _chaos_. Once Shiro talks down one idea, they’re off with another one. The firestorm that is Lance’s-creativity-plus-Pidge’s-ingenuity-plus- _Keith_ is a force of nature: awe inspiring, terrific, and ultimately uncontrollable. Shiro spends the majority of his days just trying to keep it _contained._ And this on top of finding time for each of them individually like he knows they need, attempting to guide them growing into functional adults, and also just trying to meet the basics like, say, clothing or the fact they still need to _eat_.

At least the energy bursting in the Lion House is mostly happy now. Shiro clings to the light that his teens bring when inside he feels dry and empty inside. He’s proud of how they’ve grown in even a few short weeks. It feels like a milestone when he spots Lance jumping up and down on Keith’s couch, Keith still on it, while Pidge throws her backpack on the ground in front of them and starts unpacking her tech.

“Keith, Keith, Keith! Pidge built a new video game! Help us test it!”

Shiro suspects he’s as delighted to see Keith so obviously invited—and to see Keith join in—as Keith himself is to be included. So Shiro is surprised by the painful jump he feels in his chest and the way he immediately has to busy himself with something else.

He’s happy for them, right? How could he _not_ be? All Shiro has ever wanted was for them to be happy. And as much as their antics may drive him mad, they also make him laugh—even if he has to hide it in an attempt to be the Responsible Adult.

_Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Shirogane,_ he chides himself as he takes out the trash. There was no reason for the pang in his chest and even if there was, what was he going to do? Whine about it?

There’s a lot of yelling coming from the living room when Shiro comes back in, but it sounds mostly good natured—or at least, no more outraged than Shiro would expect from a vicious game of Mario Kart. Shiro lets them be, lips ticked up at the distinctive sounds of sibling bonding. He carries on to the overwrought sitting room. They mostly use it as a storage room these days, but recently he noticed one of the lights on the chandelier had gone out. Shiro wants to see if it’s just a burnt-out light bulb or something more involved. He drags over one of the faded but well-upholstered chairs and stands on it to get a better look on the chandelier.

It’s a little thing—in fact, Shiro’s not even sure it’s a _thing_ at all. The afternoon light just hits the crystals on the chandelier and maybe the chain squeaks slightly and then—

_—the crowd is roaring, but no sentries come to drag him off. Shiro’s bleeding. It’s almost quiet. Why? Why is it quiet?_

_“Champion.”_

No. Nonono.

_**She’s** here._

_Shiro tries desperately to get up, but he’s can’t. Her nails—claws—dig into his flesh as she turns him over._

_Tsk. You've been damaged, Champion. The Emperor does not like damaged pieces. We will have to make you stronger.”_

_No. NO. He fought **well.**_ _Why is this happening? He fought! He won! He did what they wanted, why—!_

_“Take him to the lab.”_

“NO!”

The scene repeats, like a song caught on repeat. The shapes and the context don’t make sense, but the fear is real.

“No no no no.”

Shiro’s knees hit something hard, jarring his mind. He blinks and sees his cluttered sitting room. The chair is tipped over on its side, and—

_Bright light in his eyes. Bound, unable to move while he screams with nerve-searing pain. He screams and he screams but it doesn’t **STOP.**_

_“Resist all you want, Champion.”_

_It HURTS._

_“You will be **ours**.”_

Shiro suddenly knows exactly where he is. It does nothing for the absolute _terror_ ripping through him.

Something…something—his mind seems to be catching like seized gears, trying to move but unable to turn. Finally, a thought breaks through, and it’s cold dread.

There’s something worse than the arena.

As soon as Shiro thinks it, he feels the truth of it in his bones. He clutches his chest, his arm—what’s left of it anyway. There is—there was—

_Her._ Shiro can’t remember anything more than that, but he knows there’s a _Her_ and just thinking that much feels like tempting fate.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Shiro realizes he’s shaking. He’s been aware he has repressed memories for months. They stir up his dreams though he can never remember the details when he wakes. He knew there was something _bad_ , but just now he gets a taste of what his mind is hiding.

It’s horrifying. Shiro doesn’t want to know—and he _doesn’t_ but he can _feel_ and the feelings of horror and violation are deeper and darker than Shiro has the capacity to handle. So he doesn’t. He collapses and panics until he’s lightheaded and even then he doesn’t stop until he can’t _breathe_ and some smaller, quiet part of his head takes over. Focus. Control. Find yourself.

One. Two…

Shiro’s mind scatters, but somehow he keeps trying. Some left-over memory or maybe habit picks up. _Check lists. Imagine a shuttle. First to check is…_

Slowly, Shiro comes back to himself. Vaguely, he expects to be in horrible pain, the cold and awful shivers that come with a bad beating, but none of that is there. All he feels is a dull ache where his knees hit the floor.

Shiro sits up and looks around his sitting room. Everything is in order except the chair he dragged over and then knocked over. The air smells a bit dusty but otherwise pleasant. None of that explains why Shiro feels like he’s going to be sick.

He gets to his feet, swallowing convulsively. His limbs are shaky, and his throat feels raw. Was he screaming? Shiro looks around like a fugitive, but no one’s there. If he strains his ears, he can still hear the others bickering in the living room. No one’s noticed.

Shiro really might be sick. It’s been a long time since he’s completely lost himself like that.

He tells himself it’s a good thing no one witnessed that. That no one has to know how much it terrifies him.

Shiro has been promising an off-planet excursion (“Field trip!” cries Lance) for weeks, and they’ve finally got enough together to make it. Pidge spent the week researching places for them to go, and though Shiro shuts down some of them (“No, Pidge, we are not going near a black hole. Puppy eyes won’t change my mind.”), she’s settled on a moon one system over that boasts an interesting market and happens to be near a Balmera, a fantastical creature Shiro’s seen once and never forgotten. He won’t let them land on a Balmera—the Galra also happen to be fond of them—but he figures just seeing one from space would still be a treat.

But maybe that’s just Shiro.

“Space nerd,” says Keith when Shiro brings this up, and Pidge starts cackling.

Shiro folds his arms. “Do you want to go or not? I could just take Lance.”

“YEAH! Space vacation with Shiro!” yells Lance.

“What—no! I’m coming!”

Shiro pauses. “…Are none of you interested in cosmic phenomena?”

“Not when you put it like that,” snickers Pidge.

“You know, I worked my butt off for years just to have a chance to see things like this.”

“It’s okay,” says Lance, patting Shiro shoulder. “We love you even if you are a bit of a nerd.”

Shiro throws in the towel at that and herds them all into the Galra shuttle for lift off. Although he can’t help passive-aggressively listing off all the facts he knows about Balmera and their unique ecosystem like an overdone tour guide as they fly past. Shiro gets a lot of eyerolls and theatrical groans, but they also all have their faces pressed to the view screen and he can feel their suppressed laughter. Take that, kiddos. It’s not nerdy if everyone loves it.

When they arrive at the moon, Shiro makes sure they all have the communication pads Pidge rigged up and gives his speech about “Please don’t end up in jail this time, and if you do, just call me. Don’t try to break out on your own— _yes_ , I know you could all manage it” that he knows will be largely ignored and lets them out to have fun. Lance immediately shoots off to flirt with unsuspecting patrons. Pidge quickly gets lost in a curio shop. Keith, to Shiro’s surprise (and secret relief), stays by Shiro’s side.

“You can go have fun,” Shiro offers gently.

Keith shakes his head decisively with a quick glance at the people milling through the shops. “I want to be with you.”

Neither Keith nor Shiro like large crowds, though Shiro finds it easier to handle with Keith beside him. They find the quieter shops and just wander. Shiro tries to let Keith lead, but Keith repeatedly refuses to have an opinion and isn’t that weird, to have someone happy to just _exist_ with Shiro. Shiro doesn’t have an agenda: they’re stocked up on supplies and all he really wants is to explore and see how these people live their lives away from the Galra empire or the harsh conditions of TK7526-38. Scenes like this had been what a younger Shiro had dreamed of when he was fighting tooth and nail for a chance to fly for the Alliance. He rarely gets to indulge that younger version of himself; he’s not even sure if that boy exists anymore. But… But seeing a basket weaver use her six limbs to create her wares makes him feel like maybe that boy isn’t as dead as he had thought. And when Shiro gets up from examining a child’s knitted dolls, he spots Keith smiling at him.

It’s a good day. Somehow, Pidge actually manages to stay out of trouble and comes to find Keith and Shiro when she gets hungry.

“I’m out of GAC,” she explains shamelessly.

“So you’re here to beg off of us?” says Shiro, knowing full well he gave each of them equal amounts to spend today.

“I can spot you,” says Keith. “Shiro and I didn’t buy anything.”

“You’re enabling her,” chides Shiro, though it’s fond.

Keith just shrugs. “We’re all family. So we share our stuff, right?”

“See? Sharing,” grins Pidge.

“Uh huh,” says Shiro, giving his best I-know-you’re-taking-advantage-of-your-brother look.

“ _Annnd_ I bought that special oil for your hover,” she wheedles, smiling like she knows she’s won.

Damnit, she totally has. Shiro worries about the hover’s engine but can’t get himself to justify the expense.

“All right. Let’s get lunch. And pretend like I can’t be bribed.”

Pidge’s laughter is still ringing when they arrive in the cafeteria. Pidge drags Keith over to a vendor that she has clearly already scoped out, and Shiro’s about to follow them when someone crashes into him from behind.

“SHIRO!”

Shiro has Lance halfway through a throw before he realizes who it is and scrambles not to send the kid flying. He succeeds mostly because Lance wraps around his arm like a koala.

“ _Lance_ ,” says Shiro tightly. His heart is racing. He could have hurt him.

“Whoops. Sorry. Shouldn’t have startled you,” says Lance climbing off of Shiro’s arm. He manages to look contrite for half a second and then he’s back to beaming. “C’mon, you’ve got to see this!” Tugging on Shiro, Lance turns to someone behind him. “Hunk, Hunk! This is Shiro!”

“I—”

Shiro has a lot of questions as Lance drags him towards—

A human teen.

(Seriously, Shiro wasn’t entirely certain there were this many _humans_ in space. What are all these kids doing?)

This one is nearly as tall as Shiro, though he slouches slightly and is playing with his hands like he’s nervous. He’s big but in a way that says ‘warm hugs’ more than ‘danger’ and looks…unexpectedly familiar with Lance’s enthusiasm, actually. The boy smiles, amused and indulgent, as Lance emotes all over him, shaking Shiro’s arm up and down in the process.

“This is who I was telling you about! Shiro is totally awesome. He’s a pilot, and he knows all these super sweet ninja-parkour moves that he _says_ are just for self-defense but he’ll totally take out selfish assholes when they need it, he’s an astrophysicist _and a pilot_. AND he’s pretty much the nicest person you’ll ever meet.”

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” says the other teen, smiling tentatively but genuinely. “I’m Hunk.”

“Nice to meet you, Hunk,” smiles Shiro. He glances at Lance. “Uh, I guess I don’t need an introduction.”

Lance beams at him. “Hunk and I go _waaaaaay_ back. We were neighborhood best friends, and I totally showed him what a good time looks like.”

“If by a ‘good time’ you mean _the principal’s office_ ,” says Hunk.

Lance makes a sound like “Phlibit” and waves his hand dismissively.

“Ah,” says Shiro, trying to think of a nice way to say, _“I heard your planet got condemned/evacuated and where exactly are your parents?”_ and mostly drawing a blank.

Hunk seems to read his mind. Or maybe he is just blessed with the kind of social grace all three of Shiro’s teens lack.

“My gran got wind of the virus before it was a full-blown evacuation,” Hunk says. “She had some connection with the Balmerans, so she sent me to live with them before we all got put in quarantine.”

“The Balmera that’s just one orbit in from here?” Shiro asks.

Hunk nods. “My…uh, my foster family I guess, is over there.” He waves towards the crowd where Shiro can spot at least two Balmerans. “They’ve been really nice to me,” he adds in a tone of someone telling the truth and trying to make themself believe it’s enough.

Shiro’s heart goes out to him. Unlike the other teens Shiro has accidentally adopted, Hunk isn’t in crisis and seems to actually have a dose of common sense. But that doesn’t make his hurt less poignant. He keeps it well contained, but Shiro can tell it’s there.

“We were just heading for lunch,” Shiro offers. “Would you like to join us?”

Lance immediately leaps in before Hunk can answer. “Yes! C’mon, Hunk! C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!”

Hunk laughs a little and relents. “You sure this is okay?” he asks Shiro.

“How would it not be?” replies Shiro.

Hunk’s smile brightens, and it only takes a little more coaxing from Lance before they’re both enthusiastically engaged in a conversation only half of which makes sense to Shiro. Shiro’s okay with that. He can see just a little of Lance’s homesickness easing as he talks with Hunk, and that alone would endear the other teen to Shiro if Hunk weren’t already a sweet and likeable person.

They join Keith and Pidge for lunch, both of whom Lance introduces rapid fire, dodging out of the way of Keith’s outrage after describing him as a “moody emo daredevil.” Though still looking a little nervous, Hunk is folded in easily—perhaps because Lance doesn’t give anyone a choice.

Shiro smiles, but he finds his attention wandering. It’s hard for him to relax when they aren’t at home, especially in the middle of so many unknown people. He scans their surroundings, assessing threats.

“Um, Shiro?”

Shiro jumps, surprised to see Hunk next to him. Lance, he notices, is in some kind of argument with Keith, and Pidge has her tablet out reading something. He’s not sure why Hunk isn’t involved with them.

“Do you need something, Hunk?”

“Uh, it’s more that I wanted to ask you something. Not that you have to answer! You can tell me to back off, and I’ll understand. I mean I can kind of be nosy, but like people wouldn’t write stuff down if they didn’t want it read, right? Not that I’m going to read your diary or anything! I’m not—”

“Hey.” Shiro smiles. “You’re rambling. Why not just ask me whatever’s on your mind?”

Hunk ducks his head so his bangs fall in front of his face. “Are you actually asking?” he says. “Because I don’t know if you know this, but you’re kind of intimidating.”

“Oh,” says Shiro, stomach clenching.

“Not in a bad way! Just, sort of big and serious and…intimidating. Sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize,” says Shiro. “You’re fine. I understand.” He can see Hunk still feels uncomfortable, so he tilts his head. “What is it you wanted to ask? I promise I don’t bite,” he adds with a smile.

“Um, that’s good.” Hunk’s returns Shiro’s smile with a small one of his own. “I was just thinking… I mean, Lance says you took him in when he lost his family—and that was really nice of you! Thank you for looking out for him.”

Shiro shakes his head. “No need to thank me. Besides, Lance is great. We’re all happier with him around.” Even if it would be like pulling teeth to get Keith to admit it.

Hunk’s eyes crinkle, and Shiro thinks there’s approval in his eyes. Hunk, Shiro is starting to suspect, is a very loyal friend.

“Yeah, but Lance is kind of a lot sometimes,” Hunk says with a smile. “And just…that’s a pretty big thing. To make room for someone new in your life.”

Shiro pauses to look Hunk over. It’s just a suspicion, but…

“Has your foster family made room for you?”

Hunk ducks his head. His cheeks darken with a blush, and he fidgets with his hands, poking his index fingers together. “I…I mean…”

Shiro takes another stab in the dark. “You can appreciate what they’ve done for you and still acknowledge it’s not what you need,” he suggests very softly.

“They’ve done their best,” says Hunk. “Shay and her grandmother have really gone out of their way to include me. They’re the sweetest people I’ve ever met. It’s just that…”

Hunk glances up as if asking permission, and Shiro does his best to make his expression look inviting.

“It’s just…” Hunk starts again, his voice stronger. “Balmerans all can talk through the Balmera. Like they send pulses through it or something? I never quite figured it out, but _everyone_ does it. Sometimes they don’t even realize that they’re doing it. And…” Hunk trails off, eyes far away and shoulders hunched in.

“…and you can’t,” Shiro finishes for him. He tips his head. “It’s pretty hard not to feel like an outsider no matter how hard they try, isn’t it?”

Hunk looks at Shiro like he’s just said something lifesaving, and Shiro’s heart aches. He has his own memories from a handful of years with families that weren’t his, a language he didn’t understand, and a desperate kind of loneliness that only found its match in his _need_ to reach the stars.

“You seem pretty happy to have found Lance,” Shiro offers.

“Yeah. It’s really good to see someone I know. And, you know, _human_ ,” sighs Hunk. His eyes go wide. “Not that humans are better or anything! I’m not species-ist!”

Shiro laughs lightly. “It’s not any kind of prejudice to be more comfortable around people you have more in common with,” he assures. “Especially if one of those people is someone you’ve known most your life.”

“Yeah…” says Hunk again. He trails off, his eyes far way. His mouth is pressed into a little unhappy line.

Shiro considers, going through the options and possibilities, though, honestly, he’s known where this is going from the beginning.

“Hunk,” he says, waiting until he has the kid’s attention again before continuing. “I’m not pressuring you, you’re free to make whatever choice you think is best, but… Well, Lance clearly likes you and has missed you. If you would like to stay with him, and just have more humans to be around, you’re welcome to come live with us.”

Hunk’s eyes pop wide. “Really?”

“It’s not much,” Shiro feels obligated to hedge. “We’re basically just scraping by on a deserted planet—”

“Yeah, no. Lance filled me in how you guys are pretty much outlaws and space cowboys,” says Hunk. He brings his hands excitedly in front of his chest. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble to add me?”

In Shiro’s experience, adding another teen to their family has meant nothing short of emotional upheaval and chaos.

Shiro smiles. “Of course not.”

“You adopted him, didn’t you?” says Keith quietly when Hunk finishes speaking with his Balmerans and joins them as they head out.

Shiro splutters, struggling to come up with a justification that will both soothe Keith and won’t come off as pity in case Hunk overhears.

But Keith just shakes his head before Shiro finds the words. “You’re such a bleeding heart.”

He sounds fond, but Shiro worries. “Are you okay with this?”

Keith sighs, a dramatic gesture that’s definitely been coached by Lance. “I mean, it’s probably not going to be easy. But I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?”

This time Keith rolls his eyes. “ _Yes_ , Shiro. Stop worrying.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Did you forget? Worrying is my favorite hobby.”

Lance had said that a week ago when Shiro expressed his— _very valid_ —concerns about the others using bedsheets on a homemade frame to paraglide off the roof.

Keith snorts and rolls his eyes harder. But after a minute, he grows serious again. “It sucks not to be part of the family, even if they say they’re taking you in,” he says. He sets his jaw, a rare fire in his eyes. “I don’t want to make anyone go through that.”

Shiro’s chest fills with warmth. Wordlessly, he puts an arm around Keith and squeezes him close while Keith squawks in protest.

This very touching moment is interrupted by Hunk himself approaching with Lance and looking over their very battered and much repaired shuttle.

“Um.” Hunk raises a hand hesitantly like he’s in class. “Why do you have parts from a Naxa engine on a Galra shuttle?”

“The landing gears were busted,” says Pidge. “We had to make repairs with what we had.”

Hunk rubs his chin, still frowning at the shuttle. Shiro is preparing to reassure him the thing is space worthy, but then Hunk says, “So how did that work? Naxa ships use an entirely different mechanism for landing than Galra ships. Were you able to able to repurpose the levers from the pressure control?”

Pidge eyes widen. “No, I just jerry-rigged a work around with the wiring. _But_ …you could totally use the levers to control the actuator now that I think about it.”

“I was thinking to mediate the conversion from quintessence to bicrystal circuitry, but your idea would work too. The energy mismatch is the main problem integrating new tech with Galra systems.”

“You’re right! You’re right! But if you use the ion pressure generated from the routing crystals—”

“—and read in on the gravitometer from the pistons—”

“All right!” interrupts Shiro before this can carry on to a frightening conclusion. “No taking apart the shuttle while we’re still three lightyears from home.”

Hunk, at least, looks slightly abashed. Pidge just looks like she has a dozen new ideas she wants to try. Shiro hurries to herd them all into the ship before that can materialize into anything more. It almost works. No sooner has Hunk climbed into the shuttle than he turns to Pidge and asks, “So how did you get it to work with just the wiring?” and Pidge launches an enthusiastic explanation, eyes bright and hands waving.

“Pidge found a friend,” says Keith proudly at Shiro’s elbow.

Shiro bites down his own proud smile and ruffles Keith’s hair. “Now you know why I wanted you to have some.”

Keith practically gags as he beats off Shiro’s hand. Shiro snickers meanly.

Meanwhile Lance launches across the small cockpit to drape himself bonelessly over Hunk. “ _Neeeeeerds_ ,” he whines. “Include me.”

Hunk just pats Lance’s hand sympathetically and continues peppering Pidge with questions.

Huh, thinks Shiro. Maybe adding Hunk won’t be so hard.

Lance takes off with Hunk as soon as they get back to the Lion House. “HUNK CAN SHARE MY ROOM!” he yells, yanking Hunk out of the shuttle while Pidge, who is almost as excited to have someone she can talk tech with as Lance is to have his old friend back, runs behind them.

Shiro looks at Keith. “Last chance to claim an actual bed,” he says.

“And share a room with _Lance?_ ” gags Keith.

Shiro almost points out that Keith actually likes Lance now and they get along quite well most the time, but then he thinks of what might happen if Keith and Lance share a room—and immediately recoils.

“I like my couch,” says Keith defensively.

“Okay, buddy. You can keep it,” says Shiro, hiding his mixture of horror and relief.

While Shiro gets started on dinner, Lance takes Hunk on a whirlwind tour. Shiro is aware of this mostly because of the volume at which the tour is given. He gets a spike of anxiety, though, when he realizes they have reached the laundry room/workshop and Pidge’s excited voice has joined them.

Well, Hunk seems like a sensible, non-destructive type. It can’t be that bad, can it? Expect Shiro knows Pidge, and he knows _exactly_ how good she is at talking otherwise sensible people into ridiculous things.

Actually, Shiro should probably go investigate before this goes too far.

“Dinner time,” he announces, brandishing a serving spoon at the trio who have—oh crap, that’s totally the remains of his washing machine, isn’t it?

“Okay, we’re still doing dinner because it’s hot now, but I’d like to _not_ do laundry by hand so you’re going to have to put that back together after. Lance, can you go round up Keith?”

Lance bobs him a salute (his wrist is crooked—on purpose, no doubt—and it hurts a bit of Shiro’s soul) and dashes off. Hunk gets to his feet as well, carefully arranging the paneling that used to be part of the washing machine.

“Sorry, this is on me,” he says, gathering loose screws into a neat pile. “Pidge said it was rattling, and I thought it was probably just a few parts that need tightening—they tend to work themselves loose over time, you know. But I had to take off the whole front panel to get at it, and…uh, it’s kind of a mess now. Sorry.”

“Oh,” says Shiro. He considers Hunk. “Can you fix it?”

Pidge hadn’t been able to. Or, more accurately, hadn’t been able to muster up the interest to bother with it.

But Hunk smiles. “Yeah, sure. It’s not a hard fix.”

Huh. A kid who’s interested in _fixing_ things, not just building new and terrifying tech from pieces around the House. Isn’t that something.

“That would be great,” Shiro says, giving Hunk a smile that he returns with interest. “But c’mon. Dinner time now.”

Grabbing Pidge by the back of the shirt because she totally has the look like she’s ready to hyper-focus on whatever that is in her lap and now is _not_ the time, Shiro herds her and Hunk to the kitchen. He puts Pidge to work setting the table and then goes to break up Keith and Lance who made it as far as the front door before they started bickering about what color Keith’s shirt is. When Shiro returns, one boy under each arm and firmly refusing to have an opinion on whether “dark white” is a color (the shirt is totally grey, but Shiro knows better than to take sides on these matters), he finds Pidge has already served herself and is digging in but Hunk is standing, shifting from foot to foot and his eyes dart between the serving bowl, Pidge, and Shiro.

“Something wrong, Hunk?” says Shiro, finally letting go of Keith and Lance who immediately bolt for the same chair and start fighting over it.

“Um,” begins Hunk.

“I CLAIMED THIS CHAIR FIRST!”

“Since _when?_ You just went for it because I went for it!”

“GUYS!” Shiro interrupts. And then takes the chair for himself for good measure. “You were saying?” he prompts Hunk, putting Keith in a headlock to prevent him from launching himself at Lance. Lance sticks his tongue out but at least accepts a different chair.

“Uh.” Hunk looks between them all, seeming confused (putting one of the kids in a headlock isn’t _that_ weird, Shiro thinks). “Just…is that one of those freeze-dried nutrient meals?” He gestures toward the dinner.

“Yes,” says Shiro, not sure where this was going.

“And did you just add water and heat it up?”

“…Yes?”

Shiro notices Hunk almost looks like he’s in pain.

“Um.” Hunk takes a breath. “Okay, so I’m super grateful to you for taking me in and feeding me and everything, and I super appreciate it, like for real. But that’s literally the _worst_ way to do food.”

“Uh. You’re welcome?” says Shiro, willing himself not to blush. He knows he not much of a cook. But at least it’s food, right? And he’s pretty sure it’s edible—Pidge is eating it!

Hunk edges around the table and picks up the bowl like it’s something dangerous. “So I’m just going to take this and—Do you guys have seasonings? Salt? Anything?”

“There’s some stuff in the cupboard I think,” says Shiro, looking to Lance who is the only one who has actual cooking ability among them.

“Oh yeah. On the right, there. Except we don’t know what most of them are. And you want to avoid the one with the red top because we found a scorpion in it.”

Shiro shoots an alarmed look at Lance. “When was this?”

“Last week,” shrugs Lance. “I screamed, and Keith smashed it with his boot.”

“Teamwork,” Keith contributes.

“ _O-_ kay,” says Hunk. “So that’s not concerning or a health hazard or anything.” He’s already pulling out cooking utensils that Shiro didn’t even know they _had_. “This should only be a few minutes. Assuming there aren’t any living creatures in anything. What about vegetables? Anything fresh?”

Lance shoves his chair back with a “Here, I’ll help!” which Shiro is grateful for because he’s pretty sure if he were the one trying, he’d only embarrass himself. As it is, he can’t tell if he should be grateful or offended, so he’s settled on mostly bemused.

Pidge has her spoon halfway to her mouth that has been dripping onto her plate for the last minute. Her eyebrows pinch together. “Does this mean I have to wait to eat?”

Shiro has no idea how to answer her. “Do what you want,” he says, and Pidge shoves the spoon in her mouth.

Ten minutes later, Hunk places dinner back on the table. It’s practically unrecognizable, steaming tantalizingly, and somehow there are sides now? Hunk beams at them as he and Lance settle the dishes. “Dig in!”

Keith serves himself, takes a bite, and his eyes go wide. Intrigued, Shiro helps himself to his own serving, and—

Oh.

_Oh._ The slightly gritty texture from freeze-dried food is still there somewhere but so much better, and the flavors—they melt and dissolve around his tongue in a perfect, soothing melody.

“ _Hunk_. I knew you were incredible, but I totally forgot you were _this_ incredible,” says Lance, mouth full.

Hunk blushes but looks very pleased.

Shiro takes another bite and practically melts. “This is _amazing_ ,” he says.

He tries to play it as a composed compliment, but he must miss the mark because Lance says, “You okay, Shiro? You look like you’re about to propose.”

Shiro first inclination is to be embarrassed. But he can’t remember the last time he had anything this good. Hunk deserves the compliment. He barely resists shoveling his entire serving into his face. “I don’t…I forgot food could taste like this.”

Hunk looks mildly horrified. Meanwhile, Lance shakes his head.

“Dude, that explains so much about you.”

Not wanting to go into his years of living on space rations and then whatever he lived on in the prisons (he doesn’t remember nor does he want to), Shiro turns his attention to Pidge.

“You should try some of this,” he tells her. “Start with just a small bit.”

He knows Pidge doesn’t like trying new foods, but this is so _good_. He doesn’t want her to miss out. And to her credit, Pidge takes the serving spoon and scoops out the least interesting bit.

“This is _good_ ,” she declares a minute later, licking her spoon clean.

“Hazzah! We can add another to the list of food Pidge will eat!” beams Lance.

“Oh, do you have food sensitivities?” says Hunk. “You can tell me what you like, and I can work around that.” His nervousness comes back. “Um, I mean, if that’s okay?”

“How would that _not_ be okay?” says Keith in disbelief. He’s already piling seconds onto his plate.

“I just don’t want to—”

Shiro sees where Hunk is going and actually snorts. “Hunk, if you can make food like _this_ ,” he gestures to his plate with his spoon, “you’re welcome to cook for us any time you want.”

Hunk’s cheeks are red. “You sure?”

“Duh!” cries Lance. “You’re a food genius!”

“Also Shiro’s cooking sucks,” adds Keith, only smirking at the glare Shiro shoots him because he’s a brat. Shiro kicks him under the table, and Keith snickers into his plate.

Hunk, oblivious to this, clasps his hands in front of his chest. “I’m just happy to have people enjoy my food.”

“ _Aw,_ you big soft genius.” Lance shots his friend a massive beaming smile. “You’re going to fit right in around here.”

Lance proves to be largely correct. Lance’s delight to have his old friend back is tangible. He’s constantly throwing himself across Hunk’s back or demanding piggyback ride or dragging Hunk to whatever new and exciting thing he can think of (which, for Lance, is a _lot_ ). And Hunk willingly goes along with all of it, so either Hunk is equally happy to be reunited with Lance or he is _incredibly_ patient. Possibly both. Shiro would have expected a friend of Lance to be as wild and exuberant as he is, but so far Hunk has proven to have a cool head on his shoulders and even a calming presence.

Though Shiro might want to take the “calming” part back when Hunk gets together with Pidge. They speak the same rapid-fire technical language, and as much as Shiro loves seeing Pidge being able to really connect with someone, that isn’t always a _good_ thing. Pidge has filled Hunk in on how Shiro believes the Lion House has a presence, and Hunk has an equal number of questions and ideas. And experiments.

Shiro has _concerns._

“You cannot take apart the Lion House,” he tells them seriously as Hunk pokes at the water heater. “How would you like it if someone started taking apart your body just to figure out how you worked?”

Unconsciously, he works his Galra arm. He only notices he’s doing it when he catches Hunk looking and forces himself to stop.

“Just…respect the House,” Shiro says uncomfortably. “The tech inside it is free game, but don’t touch the bones.”

“Also, it will tattle on you to Shiro if you really screw up, so it’s normally best to come clean yourself,” adds Pidge.

Shiro raises an eyebrow meant to say, _In what universe have you lived by that a single day in your life?_ and Pidge just shrugs.

“When Lance and Keith had that big fight, you knew right away,” she says.

“Lance got in a fight with Keith?” says Hunk. He thinks for a moment. “Yeeaahhhh…I can see it.”

“They get along better now,” says Shiro, feeling an irrational need to justify himself. “And don’t rely on the House to tell me things. It normally doesn’t. I just get impressions, sometimes, when things are unsettled.”

Pidge shrugs as if to say _yeah, he’s crazy but we go along with it anyway._ Hunk hums, turning back to the water heater. And Shiro privately resolves to dig up that broken hover he spotted in the Scult just to give Hunk and Pidge something to work on besides taking apart the House.

(That, and with five of them now, it’s a bit difficult to transport everyone. Their little group has turned more into a mob and—Oh no, how did Shiro get to be responsible for _four_ of them now?)

Even Keith gets along with Hunk, though it’s in a quieter, existing in each other’s spaces sort of way. Keith’s eyes nearly bug out of his head the first time Hunk yanks him into a group hug, but Shiro can tell by the slight way he leans in how happy he is to be included. It makes _Shiro_ happy to see Hunk’s willingness to gel with everyone.

So Shiro’s surprised when he walks into the Lion House one day, having just finished target practice with Lance (Lance is a far better shot than Shiro, but he’s so happy to have Shiro join him with his “thing,” what else is Shiro supposed to do?), to hear a loud clattering come from the kitchen, followed by a soft, upset noise.

Shiro approaches the kitchen carefully. He starts to knock on the doorframe before entering, but then he sees what’s going on and his hand freezes.

“Oh wow.”

Hunk is sprawled out on the floor, holding a bowl that’s half full—the other half of the batter is splattered across the floor, over the oven, and even up some of the cabinets. There are measuring cups, a spatula, and several small glass pans scattered across the floor.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” cries Hunk immediately, frantically trying to clean up the mess and not getting very far. “I was trying to make muffins, but I realized we didn’t have anything like a muffin tin so then I decided to try brownies but—”

“Hey,” says Shiro soothingly. He picks up the washcloth hung over the faucet and kneels in front of Hunk, taking care not to plant his knee in any of the batter splatters. He puts a hand on Hunk’s shoulder and hands Hunk the washcloth with the other. “It’s all right.”

Shiro notices Hunk’s hands are shaking as Hunk takes the washcloth and wipes at the bowl with frazzled, ineffective movements. “I hurt the House,” Hunk says, tears gathering in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no,” soothes Shiro. “It’s just a mess. The House has seen worse, trust me.”

When that has no effect besides bringing Hunk closer to tears, Shiro gestures for the bowl. He places it carefully on the counter and sweeps the pans and measuring cups to the side so he can sit directly beside Hunk.

“Deep breaths,” he says, watching Hunk’s shaking shoulders. “It’s all right. You didn’t do anything that none of us have before. Keep breathing. Nothing here is unfixable.”

Hunk brings his hands over his face, but he’s matching Shiro’s breaths, if shakily. Shiro stays next to him, breathing slowly and doing his best to exude calm, until Hunk finally brings his hands down again.

“So what happened here?” Shiro prompts gently. “Was it just a regular kitchen mishap or…” His eyes rank over Hunk. “I sort of get the feeling there’s something else going on here.”

Hunk groans but doesn’t hide it. “Yeah, I—oh, _yuck_.” Hunk pulls his hand away from where he just put it in a puddle of batter. Shiro is already handing him the washcloth again when he looks up, and Hunk takes it and starts cleaning even as he talks. “I like cooking. Like food is _food_. It’s a huge part of culture, and one of the building blocks of society. But also baking just clears my head, you know? I know how to do it, and I can put together something that makes me happy and makes other people happy, too. It makes everything else feel more manageable.” Hunk meets Shiro’s eyes. “You know?”

“Well, normally my experiences with cooking go very differently,” admits Shiro. “But I think I understand what you’re saying. Has something been weighing on your mind?”

Hunk shrugs his shoulders. “I—okay, so I have anxiety, right? And I’ve been dealing with it all my life, so I have coping mechanisms and stuff. But especially in a new place and with all new people…it’s just _hard_. My brain starts going on all these thought spirals like what if I don’t get to stay here either? What if you guys get bored of me or…?”

“Hey,” interrupts Shiro. He squeezes Hunk’s shoulder. “Shh, you’re right. Those are irrational thoughts. I can’t promise everything will always be what you want, but I can promise you are welcome here. We _want_ you here, and I for one would miss you if you weren’t.”

Hunk takes a shaky breath. “Can you say that again?” he asks.

Shiro smiles. “We want you here. _I_ want you here. You’re an important part of us, and we would be missing something if you were gone.” Shiro considers the boy in front of him and what he knows of Hunk. “Would you like a hug?”

Hunk looks surprised for one second, then _relieved_ , and dives into Shiro’s arms. He’s still covered in batter and now Shiro will be too, but that’s a problem for the future. Right now, Shiro rubs his back while Hunk holds on tightly and buries his face in Shiro’s shoulder.

“Hey, it’s all right. It’s all right,” says Shiro, repeating soothing nonsense. But it seems to work. “I know it’s hard to adjust to a new place and new people, but you’re wanted here. You’re _loved_. It’s going to be okay.”

Hunk squeezes Shiro one last time and pulls back. He scrubs over his face, where tears have been gathering. “Thanks,” he says, his voice sounding stuffed. He takes another breath. “I’m sorry. I was totally a mess all over you.”

“I don’t mind,” says Shiro.

“Yeah, but…” Hunk gestures wordlessly to the batter and measuring cups and pans scattered around them. “Kinda hard to say it’s not a mess. I pretty much fell apart.”

“Hey, no.” On instinct, half forgetting he’s not talking to Pidge or Keith, Shiro ruffles Hunk’s hair, dislodging the orange headband sitting there. “You’re allowed to fall apart when you need to. And for the record, I am the _last_ person to think less of you because of anxiety.”

Hunk, who had been working on getting up, pauses and looks at Shiro, eyes wide. “You… Oh. You, too?”

Despite bringing up the subject himself, Shiro feels his shoulders tense. He tries to keep his voice level and dry. “You didn’t notice?”

“I didn’t—I mean, you sort of—Yeah, I noticed,” sighs Hunk. “But it seemed kind of rude, so I tried not to.”

Well, that is both kind and mortifying. Mind you, the moments when he straight up freezes aren’t exactly _subtle._ It’s not like Shiro is surprised Hunk noticed, but he would like to pretend like it was somehow possible to forget exactly how screwed up he is.

“I just meant I get it. Some of it,” says Shiro. “It’s not something you need to be ashamed of.”

“Yeah, I know,” says Hunk. He tilts his head, eying Shiro in a way that makes him distinctly uncomfortable.

Time to change the subject.

“So this…was it brownies you were making? I can help you out if you give me _very_ specific instructions and don’t turn your back on me for longer than two minutes.”

Hunk shakes his head. “You can’t be _that_ bad at cooking. Didn’t you live here for months on your own?”

“Yes, but according to Lance I have the discerning palate of a garbage disposal.”

That startles a laugh out of Hunk.

“Seriously, even Keith thinks my taste is bad,” continues Shiro, pleased to see his self-deprecation is drawing a widening smile out of Hunk.

“Yeah, okay. So maybe you’re a little bad.” Hunk smiles, and it looks just a little like Pidge’s shit-eating grin. It’s nice to see they’re rubbing off on each other (Or, at least, Shiro can dream that Hunk is also rubbing off on Pidge). “Um, if you want to help pick up the pans, I don’t think we have enough batter left to make the brownies I was thinking of, but with the cream we got from Pruig, we could make marbled brownies.”

“I don’t think I understood all the words in that sentence, but I’m yours to boss around,” grins Shiro.

Shaking his head like he thinks Shiro is exaggerating (Shiro’s not: if anything took longer than ten minutes to make, Shiro didn’t bother. He has no idea what ‘marbled’ means), Hunk gets to his feet and starts explaining his idea. His confidence seems to grow as he gets more into the flow of it. Shiro’s never really enjoyed cooking—but seeing Hunk beaming and glowing in his element? Shiro loves that.

As it turns out, marbled brownies use _two_ batters and some kind of toothpick sorcery to make the swirls. Shiro lets Hunk handle that part while he gets started on the dishes. Hunk puts the brownies in the oven and wisely set the timer (Shiro had forgotten that step) and gets the washcloth to start scrubbing away the dried batter all over the kitchen. He’s smiling now, clearly more relaxed.

“Thank you,” he says while handing Shiro the rag to rinse out.

Shiro raises his eyebrows. “For cleaning a rag?”

Hunk snorts and shakes his head. “No. Well, yes. Thank you for your help, Shiro,” he adds very formally, making Shiro laugh. “But I meant thank you for talking to me. And being understanding.”

Shiro’s heart melts. “Of course,” he says. “Any time. If you’re ever doubting your place here, you can come to me. I promise to hear you.”

Hunk leans over until he bumps his shoulder against Shiro’s. “I know.” His expression is thoughtful as scrubs the counter. “I don’t think you realize it, but you really help a lot. It’s nice to know you have mental stuff too and you’re… _you_. You make everything feel less scary.”

Shiro doesn’t know how he manages that. Not when he’s filled with nightmares and jumping at shadows. He has no idea how anyone looks at him and sees anything besides a churning ball of anxiety held together by a thin façade. But just as he won’t with Keith, as he hasn’t for Pidge and Lance, he will not dissuade Hunk from an idea that brings him comfort. Kill himself trying to be okay enough for these kids, maybe, but he won’t abuse their faith.

“Thank you,” says Shiro. “And for the record, you guys help me out a lot, too. I think I’m getting the better end of the deal here.”

Hunk just smiles and shakes his head. “I doubt it.”

And Shiro, despite knowing he’s wrong, lets him have that.

The brownies, by the way, are delicious.

It’s only a few days later Hunk appears in the door to Shiro’s room looking incredibly nervous. It’s nighttime, though not late enough yet for Shiro to go looking for Pidge to drag her to bed, and he thinks he can hear Keith and Lance playing a video game downstairs. Hunk has something in his hands and is shifting from foot to foot, expression pinched. Shiro’s first thought is that something has gone wrong, and he’s across the room in a second.

“Do you need something, Hunk?”

“No. I mean, sort of—It’s—”

“Take your time,” soothes Shiro. Hunk’s agitation seems to be growing and so is Shiro’s concern. “Is something wrong?”

“No! No, no, no! That’s not it.” Hunk takes in a deep breath. “I, um, I’m not sure if you’ll like this and I _totally_ understand if you don’t, but I… _noticedyouwerehavingtroublewithyourarmand_ —”

“Woah, woah.” Shiro holds his hands up. “Slow down. What are you saying?”

“I-I noticed you wincing after we got caught in that sandstorm yesterday. And I figured sand doesn’t probably do to well with your arm, does it? It probably gets stuck in the gears and I don’t even want to think about getting caught between the metal and the skin and I know talking about your arm and whatever happened to you is like a huge taboo and I don’t want to send you back there or anything, definitely not, but I thought, just I thought maybe I could help?”

Shiro blinks against the huge onslaught of words. Most of it slips through his fingers, but he manages to catch at least the tail end of it.

“Help?” he repeats, anxiety crawling in his stomach already despite his best offers to stop it.

“Yeah. I made a kit.” Hunk holds out a small bag that he opens to show little brushes, delicate looking picks, a small opaque bottle, and cloths of different varieties. “The brushes and picks are for getting out sand and gunk. And I included oil because you do _not_ want moving parts without proper lubrication, you just don’t. I tried to think of what would help for your skin, and the cloth in the plastic bag is infused with a salve from Ulaz that’s supposed to help with irritation. It’s thin enough to get under the metal. And this brush, see how it’s covered, it’s got _super_ soft bristles. I’m not a doctor or anything, but I thought it could help.”

Shiro holds the kit wordlessly in his hands, feeling too many things to make sense of. “I—Hunk, this is…”

“It’s okay if you don’t want it,” says Hunk. “I don’t mean to pressure you or anything—”

“You’re not,” says Shiro. Honestly, the biggest part for him is the realization that he never even _thought_ of any of this. The arm hurt, but it was built by the Galra without his consent so he just assumed it had to hurt and dealt with it. It never occurred to him there was something he could _do_.

“I can leave you alone now. If you want.”

Shiro shakes his head, still stuck in dazed amazement. “ _Thank_ you,” he says. It means as much to him that Hunk found a way for Shiro to help himself as it does that Hunk thought to help at all.

"Yeah. I mean, of course,” says Hunk. “No one deserves to be in pain all the time. And definitely not you.”

Hunk is blushing, his hands in front of his chest, but smiling sincerely. And Shiro is struck all at once at the sheer _goodness_ in front of him. Just as much as Keith and Pidge and Lance, and yet Hunk is warm and bright and whole in a way that is uniquely _him_.

And Shiro doesn’t understand.

Hunk is all selfless generosity and a kind of innocence Shiro can never touch, and what Shiro doesn’t understand is how someone like Hunk can think he’s worth the effort. How do all of them? What did he do to convince them that there was an expectation or even a _reason_ to give back?

Shiro doesn’t know, doesn’t understand, but he loves. He loves like a moth loves a flame, and he doesn’t care if he gets burned, he will love with everything he has if and until there’s nothing left.

He will be worthy of them. He has to be.

“Thank you,” he tells Hunk again. “I didn’t even think of doing anything for my arm. This is genius.”

“I’m just happy you like it,” says Hunk. He presses his pointer fingers together. “And, you know, not offended.”

Shiro smiles a bit easier, aching affection swelling in his heart. “I think you’d have to work pretty hard to offend someone, Hunk.”

“Well, I generally try _not_ to,” says Hunk.

Shiro laughs. “At least that makes one person in this house.”

Hunk grimaces good naturedly and goes to leave, but he pauses at the door. “You know, I’m not the only one,” he says. “You’re like that too, Shiro.”

Shiro, who doesn’t know how to respond, isn’t even entirely sure what Hunk _means_ , merely stares.

“Just thought you needed to know,” shrugs Hunk. He smiles and shuts the door as he goes.

That night Shiro cleans and oils his arm for the first time since escaping the Galra. Possibly the first time ever. The brushes Hunk found are fine and incredibly effective, and Shiro can’t believe there was such a simple solution to one of his everyday pains—though he knows he never would have come up with it on his own. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have known which tools to use. Hunk, clearly, is a genius.

Shiro pauses when he thinks that to laugh at himself. Of course Hunk is. They all are, in their own ways. Why would he expect Hunk to be any less extraordinary?

Fond and undeservedly proud, Shiro adds a touch of oil to his wrist joint and beams with amazement and relief when the gears rotate without grinding.

By the end of the month, Hunk fits into their no-longer-so-little family as if he was always there. He provides company for Lance, a tech buddy for Pidge, calm for Keith, and quiet, unselfish support for all of them. Shiro pulls Hunk into their self-defense practices, and although Hunk can physically throw Shiro without breaking a sweat if he has to (and Shiro makes him practice until he proves he’s consistent), he prefers a blaster like Lance. Hunk, of course, ends up modifying his own and by the time he’s done, it’s more of a machine-gun canon than a rifle.

“Figure covering fire is more important,” he tells Shiro. “That way you can lay it on thick, and then get out.” Some distance behind them, Shiro can see Pidge and Keith staring like the words “and then get out” are fundamentally incomprehensible to them. Shiro holds back a sigh. At least one of his kids understands the value of strategic retreat. And Shiro doesn’t miss that the multishot is especially useful in protecting _others_ in a dangerous situation.

Hunk is really too good for all of them.

(Although turns out Hunk had been poking at the water heater because the wiring personally offended him, and he soon decides to take it upon himself to rewire it—while Shiro is in the shower no less. But he puts it back together again and apologizes profusely to a sopping, shivering Shiro afterwards.)

It is Hunk, too, with his more careful, methodical approach, who figures out how to turn his and Pidge’s tinkering into a profitable side business fixing tech for locals. It’s a group effort that develops slowly and with hardly any input from Shiro. Hunk and Pidge, continuously working on _something_ , get the second hover in working condition again. When he had grabbed it, Shiro had thought the hover would be a good outlet: a safer place for Keith and Lance to experiment and push their limits than his hover or the vacuum of space and something for Hunk and Pidge to work on besides tearing apart the House. What he didn’t expect was for Keith and Lance to start using it to do pick-ups and deliveries while Shiro is busy. From there, and with hardly any guidance from Shiro, the four of them build out an entire system that turns the occasional handful of GAC into a small but steady stream.

After months of pinching and saving and stressing, trying to keep all five of them alive and cared for, Shiro is shocked by the tiny little pile of GAC they are accumulating. They aren’t rich by any means, but for the first time, they have _enough_.

It’s all thanks to Hunk. And the truly incredible teamwork all four of them can pull off working together.

A few weeks later, Shiro steps in from repairing the _azwukezi_ enclosure to find Hunk pulling out a truly stunning dinner. The stuffed _midduk_ had been shot by Lance that afternoon. Keith had been the one to think of taking it home and skinning it. Earlier that week, Pidge had come up with a particularly clever way to fix Rolo’s robot, which supplied the money for the seasonings and vegetables Hunk cooked with. There’s a sense of group accomplishment as Hunk pulls the _midduk_ out of the oven, Lance and Pidge carrying over the sides while Keith hyper-efficiently sets the table, all lightly teasing but moving together like a team of perfectly synchronized dancers.

Shiro’s chest blooms with warmth. Suddenly, he sees them not only as they are but as the incredible, vibrant people they’re going to be. They’re each so brilliant in their individual ways. They’ll shine and succeed beyond Shiro’s wildest imagination, and more than that, they’ll do it _together_. They look out for one another, and they know how to take care of each other.

They’re not going to need Shiro much longer.

The thought settles beside the warmth in Shiro’s chest, a smooth, cold disk. Shiro watches them, watches the way their temperaments now balance out, building off of each other instead of clashing, feels their pride at the dinner they’ve accomplished and mirrors it with his own.

They’re not going to need him.

Perhaps now they do. They’re still inexperienced and so, so young. Shiro will carry that for them a little bit longer. But very soon now, they’re going to outgrow him. They will look back and see they no longer need a broken man with a shattered mind and blood on his hands.

Shiro had promised himself, back when it was only himself and Keith and Pidge, that he wasn’t going to hold either of them back. He’s not going to hold back Hunk or Lance either. Shiro loves each of them too damn much to tether them to the ground when they were clearly meant to fly.

But.

But Shiro didn’t think it would come this soon. Didn’t think about how it would feel to see how all of them fit together while he, Shiro, is superfluous. Extra. Expendable. Empty and hollow and filled to the brim with love for them. It gushes out of him, seeping through the fractures and jagged edges of his soul, never to return.

He’s going to miss them so much when they move on. They’re his light. They reminded him what love and happiness feel like, and each of them burns bright against his heart, fighting the darkness that threatens to consume him. _Shiro_ needs them, even if they don’t need him in return.

But he loves them, and he knows what that entails.

So Shiro will guide them and love them for as long as he can. He will continue to teach and encourage and support. He’ll make sure they see every good thing in themselves that he sees in them. And then when they’re ready to leave…

He will let them go.

That’s what love is. Not holding on past the expiration date. And what they move on to is going to be _incredible_. Shiro feels old impatience kicking against his ribs, hardly able to wait to see it.

And if Shiro gets left behind? It will be fine. Shiro’s been left behind before; he’ll survive. And even if he doesn’t, it’s not like that particularly matters.

It will be a good thing, he thinks, when they finally let go of him. He’s rooting for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...that's definitely a healthy mindset that won't have further ramifications :)


	5. Allura

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switching POV for a chapter because...well, you'll see.

All things considered, Lance thinks the day is going rather well. Which might not be how _most_ of the population of TK7526-38 views it, but hey, Lance was never one to follow the masses anyway.

(Okay, so maybe Lance is _totally_ one to be conned by the masses, but he’s working on it, yeah?)

He, Hunk, Pidge, and Keith have just finished rigging up dozens of tiny timers that they have hidden throughout Throk’s courthouse, set to go off at random thirty seconds at a time, making them particularly annoying to find. Shiro would probably give them his deep sigh and raised eyebrows if he knew what they were doing, but Shiro doesn’t have to know. Also, Throk is a lackey of Lubos, and Lubos is one of the few people Shiro actively dislikes. So Lance figures even if Shiro does find out, he’ll only try to lecture them and not manage to mean it.

Of course, first they have to actually pull this off without getting caught because if they end up in jail again, Shiro _will_ lecture them and worse, he will be _disappointed_ and that just—Lance shudders. That’s best avoided.

At the moment, Lance is hiding with Keith and Hunk in the small coat closet at the entrance, waiting for their chance to escape. Pidge has already used Hunk’s shoulders to climb into the air vent and is peering through the grate into the entrance hall.

“I think we’re goo—Oh shoot. Throk’s coming in with someone,” reports Pidge.

“Who?” says Keith.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen them before.”

“ _What_?” squawks Lance only to be quickly shushed by the others. He flaps a hand at them (but quietly). “No one new ever comes here!” he hisses.

“Shiro did,” says Keith.

“We’re new,” says Hunk. “You know, technically.”

Lance groans in the back of his throat. “You know what I mean!”

“ _Shh!_ ” hisses Pidge. “They’re right there!”

Once they fall quiet, Lance can make out the muffled voices. He’s straining to understand them when Keith _opens the door._ Unable to say anything, Lance whacks him on the shoulder, wordlessly trying to communicate “What do you think you’re doing?!” with facial expressions and eyebrow raises. Keith stops the door at just a crack, but he doesn’t seem the least bit concerned by what he did. He makes a little gesture like he’s proud of himself and gestures with his chin to the outside.

Annoyed but not one to resist his curiosity, Lance squeezes his face into the crack with Keith and Hunk. With the door open now, Lance begins make out some of the words.

“…of course be rewarded…we honor…”

The speaker appears to be a hunched figure with a hood covering their face. Behind them is a bulky, intimidating alien—Lance thinks he’s Galra, but he’s so different from Thace and Ulaz it’s hard to tell. This alien is huge, for one, blocking out the doorway completely, and has a prosthetic arm that seems to hang from his shoulder by pure energy. One of his eyes is covered by a Terminator-esque monocle (although a way less cool one).

The hooded figure is saying something about “ _Champion_ ” their voice coming out as a chilling purr at the very end when suddenly, _too soon,_ one of the timers goes off.

“What in quiznak?!” snaps Throk.

He’s barely able to make himself heard over the obnoxious ringing. There’s some muffled squabbling between him and the two mystery aliens until the _next_ timer goes off, also ringing but at just a pitch that clashes horribly with the other. Cursing up a storm, Throk shoves his way deeper into the courthouse, the two strange aliens behind him.

“ _Hurry!”_ hisses Hunk, pushing Keith and Lance in the back. Pidge jumps down from the vent, and together they make a break for it while everyone’s backs are turned.

They don’t stop running until they make it to the edge of town, winded and panting.

“Weren’t those timers supposed to go off _after_ we were out?” says Lance, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees to get his breath back.

“I set them off early,” says Hunk. “I don’t know—those aliens were just _creepy._ I didn’t want to stay in the same room as them.”

“That’s—”

“Ah, _there_ you guys are.”

They all jump at the sound of Shiro’s voice and attempt to look innocent. Shiro smiles as he ruffles Pidge’s hair, but it takes less than a minute for his eyes narrow.

"All right,” Shiro says because he has supernatural ability to just _know_ when they’re up to something. “What did you guys do this time.”

“Us?” says Lance with his most winsome smile. “Who says we did anything?”

“Uh huh,” says Shiro.

Lance looks at the others for help, but Hunk is fiddling with hands, an obvious tell, Pidge is staring straight up like she thinks she can fool Shiro if she just doesn’t look at him, and Keith shoots Lance a look of pure panic when Lance makes eye contact.

Okay, so maybe they’re just all horrible liars, and that’s how Shiro can tell.

Shiro sighs but apparently decides he’s not going to fight this one. “All right. Back to the hover. But if there’s any destruction of property, you’re paying for it.”

“We didn’t destroy anything,” says Pidge.

“Well, except for—”

Lance jumps on Hunk’s back to clasp his hands over Hunk’s mouth and shut him up. “There has been no destruction of property, Shiro,” he says seriously.

Shiro straight up rolls his eyes.

“At least don’t strangle Hunk,” is all he says, herding them all toward the hover. Turning away like that will somehow hide his smile.

And that’s what Lance loves about Shiro: he tries to be all put-together and responsible for them, but underneath that, Lance knows he secretly enjoys their antics as much as anyone. It’s pretty hard to miss how much Shiro loves them once you know what to look for.

They don’t all fit well on Shiro’s hover, but Shiro’s the one driving so they squish in and call it good anyway. Lance ends up behind Shiro, Keith curled up in front by the handlebars while Hunk and Pidge do their best to hold on in the back. Shiro checks that everyone is holding on and then takes off at an easy pace.

Well. Easy pace for Shiro, that is. This the guy who taught _Keith._ As the wind picks up, Lance presses his face between Shiro’s shoulder blades and smirks to himself. By this time, Throk has probably found about three of the hidden timers and has no idea how many more he’s in for. Lance snickers at the thought of his coming frustration, content to use Shiro’s ridiculous shoulders for a windshield until—

“Hey, what’s that?”

“Did someone leave the shuttle out?”

Lance pulls his head up to see a ship very similar to their Galra shuttle parked in front of the Lion House, but almost immediately Lance can tell it isn’t theirs. For one thing, he thinks it’s slightly bigger, but more importantly, it actually looks in good condition, none of the mismatched parts and kludged together repairs theirs has. It is certainly a Galra ship though, the insignia painted in bright, bruised red on the side, and two vaguely familiar figures beside it.

Lance feels Shiro suddenly go very still.

Oh no. They’ve all seen Shiro freeze up at times, but while flying a hover is new and _really_ not in a good way. Lance is trying to think of how to bring him back without making it worse when Shiro turns around, quickly looking over Lance, Pidge, and Hunk behind him, clearly _aware_. Which is a good sign, but there’s something in Shiro’s expression, something wide and frantic that doesn’t look right on Shiro’s face at all. He makes eye contact with Lance for half a second.

And then—Lance isn’t entirely sure what happens next. Shiro stands up, does something to makes the turbines _scream_ , and slips out of Lance’s grip yelling, “Keith, take it!”

The hover wails and shrieks in one direction—while Shiro hits the ground rolling in the other.

“SHIRO!” screams Keith, also trying to climb off the speeding hover like an _idiot._

“WHO’S FLYING THIS THING?” yells Pidge while Hunk mutters, “We’re gonna die” on repeat.

Lance catches a glimpse of the rapidly shrinking figure of Shiro coming out of his roll at a run, but the out of control hover sort of takes priority.

“Guys, that’s a cliff!” yells Hunk. “We’re headed for the cliff!”

Lance tries to reach the handles, but he fell forward when Shiro jumped off, face in Keith’s hip, Pidge collapsed against his back, and there’s no way. Only one person can save them right now, and he won’t stop _trying to leap off._

“KIETH I-DON’T-KNOW-IF-YOU-EVEN-HAVE-A-LAST-NAME!” bellows Lance into his squirming stomach. “WE ARE GOING TO _DIE_ IF YOU DON’T FLY THE DAMN HOVER!”

“CLIFF!” yells Hunk.

“ _ROCK_!” adds Pidge.

Oh shit, they are flying beyond top steed straight toward a gigantic boulder. Lance is too young to die like this.

Keith finally looks ahead, and Lance is almost glad to hear the profane string of curses because _finally_ he gets the gravity of the situation. Keith settles back onto the hover and yanks on the handles.

They don’t do anything.

Whatever Shiro did before he jumped off seems to have jammed the hover. They’re screaming towards head-on collision while Keith tries fruitlessly to slow them down.

“ _KEITH!_ ” shrieks Pidge, her voice breaking in pure panic.

Lance knows the exact moment Keith gets an idea, and if he weren’t already scared out of his mind, he’d be terrified.

“Hunk, lean left!” Keith yells, bending over the handlebars.

Hunk leans, and they turn, barely avoiding the boulder. But that sets them on a path headed directly for the cliff. Keith is standing on the pegs now, and he’s messing with the key fobs in the ignition.

“What are you _doing?!_ ” screams Lance.

"Just trust me!” Keith yanks the keys out of the ignition. The engines die just as they fly shrieking bloody murder over the cliff edge. Lance’s brain has stopped making words, instead just spinning mindlessly in terror.

“WE’RE GOING TO _DDIIIIIIIEE!_ ”

Keith doesn’t respond to any of them. He jams the keys back in, but they’re in freefall, rapidly approaching their untimely deaths.

Then the engines kick in. Keith explodes into action, nearly braining Lance with the force of how he pulls back on the handlebars, throwing his whole body into it. This time, the engines don’t scream, they _roar._ Wind batters them in every direction, and the sand flies up, kicked around by the incredible force of the turbines. Lance swears he sees his face inches from the ground below—

But instead of faceplanting, they surge forward, parallel to the ground. Canyon walls and boulders whip by at incredible speeds. Keith is bunched up, tense and tight, yelling instructions to Hunk as he makes split second turns to keep them alive.

It occurs to Lance then that Keith just pulled off Shiro’s favorite trick—throwing himself off cliffs on the hover and engaging the engines at the last possible moment to shoot forward on a pocket of air. Lance is too scared to be impressed.

“We’re going too fast!” yells Pidge. At least her voice has climbed down from the high, vulnerable screech.

“The gears are jammed!” Keith shouts back. “I can’t shift down!”

“You need to lose inertia,” calls Hunk. He sounds sick, the poor guy.

“How does this thing not have brakes?” shouts Lance.

“They’re busted too!”

“ _Seriously?_ ”

“You have to brute force it!” Pidge yells. “Find an open space, and then we all lean into it!”

Lance is a little too busy screaming to understand what she means, and he knows better than to question Pidge. He figures it out when Keith yells, “EVERYONE LEFT!” and yanks the hover in the same direction.

It’s like the world’s worst donuts. They spin and spin, until one fin clips the canyon wall and then something scrapes and the nose dives to the ground, slamming a stop and launching them like disgraceful confetti.

For a moment, all Lance can think is that he can’t breathe. His breath comes back with the single thought of, _Owwwww._ Groaning and moaning, Lance rolls over, slowly taking stock of his body and makes sure he can locate all his appendages. Assured he didn’t lose anything vital, Lance grips the solid ground and blinks sand out of his eyes.

Pidge is several feet away, also stirring and groaning and feeling around for her glasses. Keith ended up doubled up over the windshield of the hover. Hunk, to Lance’s surprise, gets up rather quickly—only to puke immediately into the nearby scrawny bush. Lance pushes himself unsteadily to his feet.

“Seriously?” he shouts. “ _That_ was your idea?”

Keith lifts his head, fire in his eyes. “I didn’t exactly have a lot of options!”

“Will you stop bickering? I can’t find my glasses!” snaps Pidge.

Lance moves on unsteady legs to help her. Hunk is still retching. Lance looks at him in concern after he’s delivered Pidge her glasses.

“You all right, buddy?”

“Yeah.” Hunk goes pale and doubles over again. “Um. Almost.”

“Do you even _have_ anything left to come up?” says Pidge.

“I was panicking! We were out of control, we nearly died like fifty times, and I really thought we were going to turn into desert pancakes—”

“Sorry my method of _saving our lives_ wasn’t nice enough for you!” snaps Keith.

“I’m just saying,” Hunk wrings his hands and takes a deep breath. “What the _hell_ just happened?”

The profanity is so rare from Hunk that it makes the rest of them pause.

“I mean,” continues Hunk, “Shiro did something to the hover, and then just jumped off with us on it. That’s not… _Shiro_. What happened?”

“Did he have a moment?” says Pidge, looking at Keith.

Keith frowns. “He’s never done anything like that before.”

“He was scared,” says Lance out loud.

Everyone looks at him. Lance feels uncomfortably hot; he loves attention, but he suddenly doesn’t like this. He can’t seem to stop talking though, finally realizing what that last, desperate look Shiro had given him meant.

“He was scared. Not like a flashback, either. He knew exactly what was going on, and it _scared_ him.” Lance feels a chill run down his back. “ _Shiro_ was scared. And…” Realizations start to connect as they flow out of his mouth. “He jammed the hover on purpose. To make sure we got out. He made sure we were distracted and couldn’t turn around to come back.”

There’s a moment while that sinks in.

Then Keith breaks. “We have to go back!”

“Wait,” says Hunk. “If this scared _Shiro—_ ”

“You’re not going to help him!” yells Pidge, angry tears in her eyes.

“I didn’t say that,” says Hunk jutting out his jaw. “I just mean we have to be smart about it. If we go rushing in and Shiro has to save all our butts again, that’s not going to help anything.”

Unfortunately, Hunk is right. Lance shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking on the heels of his feet. “So what do we do then?”

“We have to go back there,” says Keith.

“Hunk _just said—_ ”

“How are we supposed to be smart about it if we don’t have more information?” Keith demands. “We go back there, see what’s up, and then make a plan.”

That doesn’t sound much different from rushing in, but it’s not like Lance has a better idea. He looks at Hunk and Pidge.

“I don’t think the hover is going to get us back,” says Pidge, scrubbing her glasses.

Hunk steps over. “It might…hm, actually, no. I mean, I could fix it, but not with what I have on hand.” He wrings his hands. “Not fast.”

There’s a moment where they all look at each other. It’s going to take time to walk back. They traveled far on the jammed hover.

Lance remembers Shiro’s scared look before he jumped off the hover, and his stomach goes cold. Shiro might not have time.

“Let’s go,” says Keith, already marching off and not waiting for any of them.

Insides churning, Lance jogs to catch up with him, Pidge and Hunk following after.

They take too long.

Even moving as fast as they can, they have to work out a way to get back up the cliff using Pidge’s grappling hook and a lot of faith in very small pieces of rock. And then they have to make their way back. Lance wonders if everyone feels the restless energy jangling against their throat, their stomach, the insides of their ribs, or if that’s just him.

Shiro is probably fine, right? He has to be. He’s _Shiro_. He’s a badass, he’s a pilot, he’s stupidly, ridiculously good at everything. It’d be annoying if Shiro weren’t such an innately good person. There have been plenty of times they’ve gotten into trouble, and Shiro has gotten them out without breaking a sweat. Surely two, albeit creepy, aliens won’t actually hurt him?

But then Lance remembers the scared look Shiro gave him before sending all of them _hurtling towards a cliff_ , and he remembers that as much as Shiro is their kind of weird, dorky older brother, he’s seen stuff too. Stuff that haunts him like Lance has never witnessed in a real person before. And the fear returns. What could have hurt Shiro that badly? What could hurt him _again_?

They spot the Lion House, still too far away. Keith breaks out running. Lance notices the foreign ship is gone and allows himself to hope with the stitch in his side. Maybe they’ll get there, and Shiro will be on the porch, steady and unflappable as ever, waiting for them. Maybe it will all be _fine_ , and they didn’t need to panic, everything is okay. _Maybe_ …

None of them have the stamina to run the whole way to the Lion House, but they still try. Lance is gasping and panting as they get close. All seems quiet, which might be good, but Lance has the sudden impression the _House_ is quiet. Lance never really understood what Shiro meant when he said the Lion House had feelings, but right now, he realizes there’s normally a warm, comforting sensation that he associates with coming home, and it’s not there anymore _._

The Lion House feels empty _._

Lance finds the energy to pick up the pace. It’s okay, he tells himself. It’s okay, it has to be okay. He rounds the corner around the barn—and freezes.

The House looks like it got hit by a cannonball, splinters and debris scattered everywhere. Lance can see right through the wall to the chandelier dangling in their sitting room. The longer he looks, the more destruction he sees. There are scorch marks on the porch, broken planks, burn marks that carve huge chunks out of the pillars. And on the ground, dark stains that look like—that seem like they could be—

“Shiro? _Shiro!_ ”

All four of them break into a run, calling Shiro’s name. Lance’s heart feels like the time one of Pidge’s circuit boards overloaded and started spitting sparks in every direction, fizzing in his chest.

Keith and Pidge overtake the rest of them and dive into the House, yelling for Shiro. Hunk checks the barn, and Lance runs around the perimeter, but all he finds is more evidence of destruction.

“SHIRO!” Lance yells, looking frantically out into the desert, as if Shiro’s just going to wander by and ask why they’re all panicking. Upstairs, Lance hears a window open and Pidge’s voice drifts down.

"He’s not here. He’s not _here_.” It doesn’t sound like she’s talking to anyone, just herself, and the words sting in Lance’s chest. He runs back to where the destroyed wall. This time he forces himself to see the drips of blood on the sun-warped planks and smeared against the jagged edges of the broken wall. They’re still red, edges just starting darken, and there’s so _much_.

“He’s gone,” says Hunk, voice hollow.

“No, he’s not!” Keith explodes onto the porch. He’s looks manic and almost scary. “He’s NOT! You just didn’t look right!”

“I— _Keith—_ ”

Keith is so obviously past listening. He burns past them, searching with frantic energy. Lance is frozen in place, not wanting to believe this is real. This is just a misunderstanding, the blood is from a bad paper cut, and Shiro is _here_ and _fine_ and any minute now he’s going pop up and make everything better.

Keith runs through the barn, yelling Shiro’s name. Inside, Lance can hear Pidge’s voice, too. Hunk has started a second sweep of the House. Lance just stares at one drop of blood and the way it spiderwebs, following the grains in the wood.

Shiro isn’t answering. He isn’t standing up, shaking off some seriously concerning injury, reassuring them it’s nothing. He isn’t asking them to calm down or to work together.

He isn’t—He’s not—Lance can’t remember Shiro ever _once_ hesitating when they’ve asked for his help. No matter how tired, distracted, annoyed, or _anything_ …To have Shiro not coming for them now, when they’re screaming his name—

It means he can’t. Lance’s security, his rock, the savior who took him in when he was falling apart at the seams and who held it all together, is _gone_. And Lance is as helpless and lost as when he first realized he’d been separated lightyears away from his family. Tears gather in his eyes. They don’t fall, just keep pooling up until Lance’s vision is blurry. He wants his mom. He wants his older sister. He wants… He wants _Shiro._

“They stole him.”

Lance jumps about a foot before realizing Pidge had somehow snuck up on him. Her eyes are red-rimmed but furious, and her hair is even more of a disaster than usual. Her hands shake as she curls them into fists.

“They took him! _Again_. And-and—!”

Lance realizes with horror that he might be about to see Pidge cry. He wants to reach out to comfort her, but his body feels numb. He’s not sure he can move.

“Um, guys?” Hunk pokes his head out, twisting the bottom of his shirt. “I think someone’s coming.”

The three of them hurry to the front of the House in time to see Ulaz step out of a small transport shuttle. Thace already has a grip on Keith, who is flailing like a wild cat and yelling.

“Let GO of me! Shiro’s out there! I need to find him!”

“He is not here,” says Ulaz in his deep, slow voice.

Pidge surges forward. “Do you know where he is? Where did they take him?”

“We should speak inside,” says Thace, who hasn’t moved a muscle even as Keith fights against him.

“Why can’t we talk here?” demands Lance. “What’s going on?”

“This isn’t—”

“Thace,” Ulaz cuts him off. His yellow eyes look over all of them, expression solemn. “What do you know of Shiro’s history?”

That draws them up short. They—They know about Shiro’s history. And the key thing they know is _not_ to talk about it. Why is Ulaz asking?

“He was a Galra prisoner,” says Pidge finally. “He fought in the arenas before he escaped and came here.”

Ulaz exhales. “That is true.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “But it was more than that. Shiro was infamous, undefeated in the ring. During that time, he earned the title Champion.”

Lance’s blood runs cold. “That’s what the creepy lady with Throk said!” He locks eyes with Hunk, who nods, his brown face bloodless.

“ _Haggar_ ,” says Thace. He hacks and spits on the ground.

“She’s a witch with unparalleled powers and Zarkon’s ear,” says Ulaz. “She often takes special interest in gladiators who do well to… _experiment_.” He sighs. “Shiro was a particular favorite of hers.”

“Is that what happened to Shiro?” says Hunk. His eyes grow wide and horrified. “Is that why he has the arm? And now she’s taken him _back_?”

“Yes,” says Ulaz.

"She can’t do that!” yells Keith, yanking fruitlessly against Thace. “We have to save him!”

“Weren’t you listening?” hisses Thace. “Haggar is one of the most powerful people in the Galra Empire, second only to Zarkon himself! Going against her is suicide!”

“We can’t _leave_ him there!”

“There’s nothing we can do,” says Ulaz.

Pidge starts crying. Lance has never seen her like this. There are tears and snot gathering on her face, and she hiccups, scrubbing ineffectively at her eyes. “No. _No!_ ” She stomps on the ground, not looking at anyone. “This can’t happen! Not again!”

“Oh, Pidge.” Hunk takes two steps forward and scoops Pidge into a hug. He keeps holding her even as she pounds weakly on him with her fists. For once, Hunk is the one _not_ crying, and Lance doesn’t know if that makes him feel better or worse.

“We should go inside,” says Thace, like that’s _it._ Like Shiro got recaptured by his tormentors and they’re just going to sit back and let that happen. “Shiro asked us to look after you if anything happened to him.”

“So we’re going to do _nothing_?” shouts Keith.

"There’s no going against Haggar,” says Ulaz solemnly.

“Shiro wanted to you to be safe,” says Thace more brusquely. “He was quite clear that was his highest priority. He would certainly disapprove of you putting yourselves in such pointless danger.”

Lance feels like he just got slapped. None of this feels _right_ , but he wasn’t expecting to be played the “Shiro would have wanted” card. He feels stunned and confused and aching at a loss he can’t quite believe is real yet.

Thace bowls right though all of that. “Inside,” he orders. “All of you.”

“They can’t just lock us in here! They can’t tell us not to go after him!”

All of them are piled into Lance and Hunk’s room. Keith is pacing wildly in the small space and may soon start climbing the walls.

“But what else are we supposed to do?” says Hunk. They’ve had variations of this conversation on repeat for the past twenty minutes. “They’re downstairs. They’ll know if we try to leave the House.”

“So what?” snaps Keith. “Are we supposed to just wait around and listen to what the two Galra who showed up out of nowhere tell us to do?”

“I’m not,” says Pidge. She hasn’t spoken much since she broke down outside. There are still tear tracks dried on her face, but she types with singled minded focus on her laptop. They’ve long since given up asking her what she’s doing.

Keith’s nostrils flare. “No, you’re just messing with your computer like always!”

“Keith, would you _shut up?_ ” snarls Lance. He hasn’t wanted to punch Keith this badly since that fight in the kitchen that Shiro had to break up. “You’re not the only one who cares about Shiro! He’s our brother, too!”

“Then why aren’t you doing anything?!”

“Oh, because your pacing is doing _sooo_ much good right now!”

“GUYS!”

For a second, Hunk’s tone sounds so much like Shiro’s that they both freeze. “Can we—can we not, right now?” says Hunk. “Fighting among ourselves isn’t going to help anything.”

Pidge lets out a wordless scream and actually kicks her laptop across the floor. Lance is so shocked he can only gape.

“I can’t find him!”

“You have to,” says Keith, stunned and brittle.

“ _How?_ ” demands Pidge. “There’s nothing to trace, to hack, to-to _anything_.” She buries her face in her hands. “I’m going to fail again.”

“You keep saying ‘again,’” realizes Lance.

"Pidge’s father and brother were captured and killed by the Galra,” says Keith. The disturbing glare he’s been wearing finally cracks. Instead, his shoulders droop, and he trudges over to where Pidge is, his head hanging down. His dark fury is over, but the despair blanketing him now is somehow worse. 

Lance drops onto his bed, suddenly drained. He doesn’t know what to do. Shiro can’t just be _gone_. But he’s obviously not here, and his absence is palpable.

Hunk seems to be thinking something over, twisting his headband between his hands. “Shiro’s been through this before,” he says quietly, almost to himself.

Lance splutters. “Do you think that makes this _better_?”

“No! No.” Hunk shakes his head. “I was just thinking.” His eyes dart around, as if hoping someone will stop him but none of them do. “Shiro must be really scared right now.”

That comment drops like a lead-filled balloon.

Hunk starts knotting his hands together more. “I-I mean. We’ve seen him when he’s, you know, not quite there. But now he actually _is_. And—” here Hunk looks like he’s _really_ hoping someone will prove him wrong. “He probably thinks no one is coming to help.”

There’s silence as that sinks in. Up until this point, Lance has mostly been thinking in terms of what they’re going to do without Shiro, but now that he thinks about what _Shiro_ must be going through and…

“Oh. He’s not going to be okay, is he?” says Lance out of numb lips.

Shiro tries so hard to pretend he’s okay for all of them, and they let him because they don’t know what else to do and, because to a certain degree, they _need_ it from him. But they all know. Lance remembers in particular one time when he snuck out for a midnight snack and caught Shiro by surprise. It had taken almost an hour of repetition and soothing words for Shiro to really recognize him. And that was in the Lion House, wrapped up in a nice blanket, with nothing but his own mind to hurt him. What must he be going through now?

In that moment, Lance knows two things. The first is that if they do this—if they find a way to track down and rescue Shiro—it isn’t going be to their older brother/surrogate parental figure, the leader who always knows how to step in and fix any situation that they’re going to find. It’s going to be the broken prisoner. They aren’t going to be able to count on Shiro to help them out.

And the second is that they absolutely cannot leave him there.

Lance locks eyes with Hunk. He thinks about what Hunk said: _and he probably thinks no one is coming to help._ In fact, it seemed Shiro did his best to make _sure_ no one was coming. Lance remembers that last look Shiro gave him, and his heart clenches. Shiro willingly risked going back to that torture just to keep the rest of them safe. Lance doesn’t know what to do with that kind of love, but he knows he can’t do nothing.

Maybe that’s why Hunk hasn’t been crying and freaking out with the rest of them. Hunk always had a knack for knowing what the right thing was and sticking to it. And the right thing now is to save Shiro.

It’s dangerous. It’s probably insane. But Shiro has been training them from the beginning, teaching them everything they need to know. They have to at least _try_.

“We’re rescuing Shiro,” says Lance, chin stubborn.

“But _how_?”

Lance has never heard Keith sound defeated like that.

Pidge and Hunk look at him, too, and once again, Lance finds himself in the center of attention he seriously does not want. He feels small and brittle, but this is for _Shiro_. He has to try.

“Um, well…” Lance scrambles to think of something, anything worthwhile to say. “I mean, the ship they took him in—they’ll have to refuel at some point, right?”

For a moment, all he gets is blank stares and silence, and he’s afraid they’ve hit another dead end. But then Hunk nods slowly.

“Hm. It’s basically the same model as ours, just bigger. They might have extra storage for quintessence, but they couldn’t have gone more than ten lightyears.”

Keith is engaging now, too. “There’s a Galra trade station past the Thaldycon system,” he says. “Shiro pointed it out to me once. He wanted to make sure we avoided it.”

“But that could be where they took Shiro,” finishes Lance.

“Even if it’s not, they’ll still have information and stuff, right?” says Hunk.

Pidge nods, her eyes suddenly brighter. “They’ll be hooked into the greater Galra network. If I can get into their computer system, I can run a search. The Galra like to keep…well, they call it _inventory_ on their prisoners.” Pidge’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “But we can use that to track down Shiro.”

“And then once we know that, we can find him and get him out,” says Lance. There’s an odd energy in the room. It’s unlikely to be this simple and they all know that, but they’re planning. They’re doing _something._

“We have to be able to get to the trade station first, though,” Hunk points out.

"I can fly us,” says Keith immediately. “Shiro taught me everything we need to know. As long as Pidge can plot the course, I can get us there.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. I already have the Galra station marked in my maps,” says Pidge.

“We’ll need supplies,” says Hunk. “Our weapons, and tools for Pidge and me. Probably food and water, too. I’m not counting on the Galra to give Shiro enough.”

“Okay, so Hunk collects supplies. Keith and Pidge prep the shuttle, and—”

“There’s still Thace and Ulaz,” Pidge points out. “How are we going to get past them?”

There’s a long pause, and then everyone looks at Lance.

“…so this one’s orange but the other one’s pink. Only it used to be white, but Keith sucks at using the washing machine. Like, super sucks because there wasn’t even anything red _in_ the load, and he still dyed half of it. How’d he manage that?”

“Is this…important?” says Ulaz, listening with great intensity. Thace sighs and collapses onto an overturned bucket, staring at the ceiling.

“Um, _yeah!_ ” says Lance. “If Keith can bleed his emo-ness into the laundry, what else can he do? We’ve got to take preventative measures here. And see _this_ shirt, here, you can tell is Hunk’s because it’s yellow, and yellow is just not anyone else’s color. But it’s got peanut butter smears on it, so that means Pidge probably stole it and tried to sneak it into Hunk’s laundry so she didn’t have to do it herself, the sneaky little gremlin.”

“I see,” says Ulaz, still taking this completely seriously. “And does this relate to the, ah, mis-colored sock?”

“It does!” cries Lance. “See it’s super duper, uber, especially, fantastically important! Because if _Pidge_ was wearing Hunk’s shirt, and Keith is dying _my_ sock—You see what I’m getting at here?”

Honestly, Lance is just spewing out whatever comes to mind. Fortunately, Lance’s ability to bullshit his way through anything is a well-developed talent honed from years of never learning how to keep his mouth shut. Thace may have given up on Lance already, but he hasn’t left the laundry room yet, and that’s all Lance needs.

Ulaz, bless him, is clearly trying to follow Lance’s inane thought process, a doomed endeavor if there ever was one— _Lance_ can’t even follow his own thoughts half the time, and that’s when he’s _trying_ to make sense.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” says Ulaz, his brows pinched together in unhappy confusion. Lance would feel bad except—trying save Shiro here. So nope, Lance doesn’t feel bad at all.

“ _There is laundry anarchy here!_ ” spews Lance. “And you know what happens when the laundry goes downhill? Next thing you know, food is getting left on the counters, and nobody is cleaning the bathroom! We’ll lose our sense of self as all our clothes get washed into a single grey mess!”

“What?” says Thace, finally checking in. “That can’t be—”

“Perhaps it is a particular trait for their species,” Ulaz interrupts.

Lance claps his hands together and points as Ulaz. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes. It is a _key element_ of our development as a species! You can’t ignore that.”

Thace raises his eyebrows. He clearly has some things to say, although whether it’s about humans in general or Lance in particular remains to be seen because before he can get started, they are interrupted by a loud ringing—for the second time that day.

It just so _happened_ that Pidge and Hunk still had the prototype of the timer they had designed for the prank on Throk. Only this one _never stops._

Thace leaps to his feet. “What’s that?” he snaps, alarmed.

Lance does his best to keep his expression wide-eyed and worried. “Um, I don’t know. It sounds serious?”

Thace nods sharply. “Stay here. We’ll take care of it.” He’s already leaving, but Ulaz pauses to look at Lance.

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid we’ll have to come back to your concerns about this later.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure! No problem!” Lance smiles and tries not to look too eager.

It must work because Ulaz follows Thace.

And no sooner has Ulaz turned his back than Lance is sprinting out through the mudroom.

He finds their shuttle out of the barn, engines already warmed up and humming. Hunk throws the remote controller to the timers on the ground and grabs Lance’s hand to help him scramble into the shuttle. Inside, Lance finds Keith and Pidge sitting in pilot and co-pilot seats. Keith mans the controls, and Pidge has the coordinates plugged into the system and a navigation path printed out. Her backpack is packed to the bursting in the back next to Lance and Hunk’s guns. Lance picks up his blaster while Hunk muscles the airlock shut. They’re as ready as they’re going to be, but for a moment, they hesitate.

It’s just…more than anything else, deep space is _Shiro’s_. He gets different when they’re in the vacuum of space, centered and open in a way that normally feels very far away. More often than not, he’s the pilot simply because he loves it so much. It seems _wrong_ , even more wrong than the empty Lion House, to be here, preparing to go into space without Shiro in the pilot seat or at least leaning over to offer instructions or just to get a better view of the stars.

But that’s why they’re doing this, isn’t it? Because Shiro deserves to be here, deserves to be _home._

“Ready?” growls Keith. He’s practically vibrating in the pilot’s seat.

Pidge punches start to the navigation system. “Ready.”

“Ready,” agrees Hunk, buckling himself in.

Lance smiles in a way that’s sharp and mostly teeth. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Keith slams on the sticks, and they’re off.

“Okay, so I’ve spoofed the codes of the other ships coming in,” says Pidge as they near the trade station. “Since this shuttle was originally Galra too, we should be able to get in without a problem. Have you figured out where we’re going from there?”

When Pidge got near enough, she was able to scrape floor plans for the trade station. While she works on getting them access, Hunk and Lance are looking for where they need to go once they get in.

“There’s a control center nearby the hangars,” says Hunk. “It’s not the main bridge, but it should still be connected to the Galra network and will have less security.”

“Um, guys, are you hearing this?” In addition to helping Hunk with the floor plans, Lance has Pidge’s headphones on one ear listening the Galra chatter. “There’s some kind of conversation you have to have to have with the guards to get the doors open.”

“We have the codes!” insists Pidge. “What more do you need?”

"Yeah, I think those, like, make sure we don’t get shot on sight. Still have to actually have a conversation to get the hangar open.”

“We don’t speak Galra,” worries Hunk. “They’ll know right away.”

Keith jerks the controls, sending them all grabbing for the walls. “Hold on,” he says. “I have an idea.”

“Oh no,” mutters Hunk, clutching his stomach.

“Keith, there’s a Galra ship _right there_!” hisses Lance.

“Yep,” says Keith.

“ _Why are you flying towards it?!_ ”

Keith leans over the sticks, bottom lip caught between his teeth, still heading directly for the other Galra shuttle.

“These ships have a blind spot,” says Keith.

“Yeah, but only a few meters—Oh man,” says Hunk as Keith flies them within _feet_ of the other spaceship.

“Okay, that’s actually kind of clever,” says Pidge though her voice is tense.

“As long as we don’t _crash!_ ”

“Shut up!” insists Keith. “I’ve got this!”

Well, either Keith has this or they’re all dead. Hunk closes his eyes, mouthing wordlessly. The other ship takes up ninety percent of the view screen which means Keith is essentially flying blind. Lance’s knuckles turn white against their grip on the sideboard.

Last second, Keith pulls ahead, swerving past the other shuttle and through the barely open hangar doors. They make it, belly scraping, sparks flying, but coming to a stop before hitting the opposite wall. There’s a brief moment of silence.

“Um—”

“Someone almost certainly noticed—”

“We should—”

“—get out—”

“ _Now!_ ”

Pidge grabs her backpack, Hunk and Lance their guns, and Keith leads the way leaping out of the airlock and scurrying into a service hallway just as some sentries come to inspect their less-than-regulation shuttle.

“Where do we go from here?” growls Keith.

Hunk fumbles with the tablet. “Um, if we follow this hallway, there should be a right coming up—see, here—and then the control room should be in just two turns.”

Lance looks nervously over his shoulder, holding onto his gun. He’s never really shot at, you know, _people_ before, but they’re surrounded by Galra soldiers and all-encompassing bruised purple light and suddenly this is very _real_.

“Okay, so we need to get— _Keith!_ ”

Rather than wait for an opportunity, Keith has bolted for the next hallway. Pidge swears at him and takes off as well, Lance and Hunk behind her. They don’t get a chance to catch their breaths, because Keith _keeps running_ , dodging patrols with some sort of sixth sense or just pure luck. They’re running hard on adrenaline, and half-panicking, they whip around the corner to the control room. Keith takes out the sentry guarding it with his weird purple knife, and the rest of them tumble into the room.

“Okay, Pidge, get started on the download,” says Hunk, hitting the panel to shut the doors. He holds his gun carefully against his chest, and Lance mimics him on the other side of the door. The air is tense while they sit and wait for Pidge to work.

Well, everyone except for Keith. Keith is stabbing the robot sentry to make sure it’s really dead, and frankly none of them feel up to stopping him.

Lance has never done well with silence. “Why do you keep looking at the door?” he hisses to Hunk. “Do you think they know we’re here?”

“I don’t know,” says Hunk. “But we’re the ones with range.” He lifts his gun and nods his chin at Lance. “If someone comes, we’re the first line of defense.”

Lance swallows, and his gun feels just a little heavier in his hands. “Oh. Yeah.”

Hunk’s jaw is set though, and looking at him, Lance feels a surge of determination. Right. Lance has a gun and a way to protect them, and he’s going to _use_ it because that is what Shiro would want him to do.

But then Pidge gasps, a quiet, wounded sound, and Lance is immediately distracted.

“What happened?” Keith is nearest Pidge and gets to her first. Whatever he sees on her screen makes him freeze. “Oh. Oh no. That’s—shit.”

Lance and Hunk hurry over as well, crowding in to try to see what Pidge has on her screen.

“I-I just searched for Champion since that’s the name the Galra seem to use for him, and I found—” Pidge’s voice breaks.

“Is that _Shiro_?”

“It has to be,” says Keith, sounding torn between defensive and _scared_.

It is Shiro on the screen, but he looks _young_. His hair is completely black, there’s no scar on his face, and instead of his weaponized arm, he’s holding a strange looking sword. He isn’t looking at the camera, but whatever he sees beyond it clearly scares him. He looks small and shaky as if he wants to run and hide.

“Wait,” says Lance. “I think it’s a video.” And without thinking through the consequences, without thinking about how this is a _terrible idea_ , Lance reaches down and presses play.

Shiro on the screen moves—or rather, he takes barely a step forward before he is smashed to the ground by an electric orb. The camera pans out to reveal a giant, armor-clad Galra as Shiro’s opponent. The Galra seems to control the electric ball with a prosthetic he has grafted into his arm. Every time Shiro gets hit, he gets thrown several feet, and it looks like he won’t get up again. They watch several minutes of the giant throwing the electric ball, and Shiro trying desperately not to die. Lance’s nails dig into the palm of his hand, struggling to remind himself this has to be in the past, it’s not happening now, Shiro’s not going to die— _he’s not going to die!_

Something changes in Shiro’s face onscreen. This time, he doesn’t duck and dodge. He brings the sword up to _attack_ —

Suddenly, the video switches to a different scene. It’s still Shiro, but now some of his bangs are white. There’s a massive cut over his face, bleeding like a waterfall, his nose wrinkled into an inhuman snarl. There’s no hesitation this time, no fear, and his arm—he has the prosthetic now—glows bright pink-white as he attacks again and again, fast, vicious, unrelenting. He doesn’t give his opponent a moment to breathe. Even when he gets thrown ten feet, he’s back up again with the next assault before the other can take advantage. Each strike is efficient. Brutal. This time, Lance isn’t as scared _for_ Shiro as much, but fear and horror still cake his throat. There’s an aching whine, painful cracking at the center of his chest, watching Shiro—kind, gentle, endlessly selfless Shiro—act so _violent._

Shiro on the screen dodges his opponent’s barb-tipped tentacles, rolling on the sand and coming up just in time to climb onto its back. The creature thrashes, hitting Shiro’s arms and legs and drawing blood, but Shiro doesn’t let go. He lights up his arm again, fingers extended flat like a blade, and brings it down, slicing through the alien’s skull—

The screen goes black.

Hunk’s hand rests firmly on Pidge’s keyboard. There are tears on his face, but his expression is solid. “We shouldn’t watch this.”

"But—” Pidge doesn’t sound like she has more to that protest, just the one word. Her voice and expression are wounded.

“Shiro would hate it if we saw this,” says Hunk. “And it’s not helping us—it’s from the past. When he was captured the first time. This doesn’t tell us anything about where he is now.”

“It could be…” Lance hates that his mouth keeps talking, finishing the thought without his permission. “He could be back there now.”

Keith gets up and kicks the downed sentry with wordless rage. He keeps pacing and growling like a caged animal.

“Woah! Keith!”

Keith opens and clenches his fists, and the look in his eyes might look like tears on anyone else, but Keith just looks shattered.

“They’re going to put him back there!” he says, voice coming out cracked. “They’re going to put him back in the arena and make him fight again, and Shiro _hated_ it. They’re going to destroy him!”

“Woah, woah, woah. Keith, that’s not—”

“They’re going to hurt him! They’re going to make him be their stupid _Champion_!”

“He’s still the same guy,” says Pidge quietly. Keith whirls on her, but she’s staring at her blank screen, not looking at him. She shrugs a little. “He is,” she says just slightly steadier. “He’d already been through all this stuff when we met him. He’s still the same person.”

Keith turns away from her. Honestly, Lance kinda wishes he’d just cry. It’d probably help.

“Keith, man, she’s just saying…”

“I get it, okay? Fine! Whatever!”

Wordlessly, Hunk and Pidge turn to look at Lance.

Hey, wait, why is _Lance_ the one to handle Keith? Isn’t it like explicitly obvious that he’s the last person who should be doing this? But okay, whatever, desperate times, desperate measures. Lance gets to his feet.

“Keith…” Lance approaches but not close enough to be in striking distance. Keith looks at him, his strange colored eyes looking like bruises. “Look, I’m with you. I don’t—I don’t _like_ the idea of Shiro being hurt. I hate it. But Pidge is right: this doesn’t change anything. He’s still the same person. Which means we can find him and _bring him back_. We can get our Shiro back.” Very hesitantly, Lance puts his hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Okay?”

Keith closes his eyes for a long moment. He grips Lance’s wrist and nods.

Lance squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll save him. Promise. Just work with us, yeah?”

Keith nods again. Then, quietly: “Sorry.”

It’s not much. But from Keith who _never_ apologizes and acts like feelings are an allergy? Yeah, kind of a big deal. Lance feels a swell of affection—then protectiveness. So they fight a lot and argue about stupid things and Keith doesn’t do well with communication or, you know, people _,_ but Keith is his _brother_. Lance feels just as protective of him as he does of Pidge or Hunk or even Shiro at this moment. He already lost his family once. He’s not going to lose any of his new family now.

“It’s cool,” smiles Lance. “Don’t worry, we—”

The rest of Lance’s ‘got this’ is lost in a soft mechanical whir.

They had forgotten to watch the door.

“HEY! What are you doing in here? INTRUDE—”

With a roar, Hunk grabs the downed sentry and chucks it at the Galra officer, knocking him down flat. “Lance!” he calls, making for the access panel.

Keith tries to jump in, but Lance holds him back. “Dude, I’m the one with the gun,” he says before running for the door.

Hunk lets out a round of his multishot, downing a row of sentries while Lance slides into position on the other side of the door.

“Shield Pidge!” Lance yells to Keith, picking off sentries with his shots. Something with the access panel seems to have been overridden, jamming the door open, and Hunk has torn off the cover and is now messing with the wires inside, leaving Lance their lone defense against the oncoming sentries. Lance fires and fires, heart in his throat but hands steady, never missing a shot.

“How much longer, Pidge?” says Keith.

“Just…” Pidge’s voice is broken up by the rapid staccato of her typing. “Few more minutes. Don’t have time to sort it, so I’m just downloading everything.”

“We might not _have_ a few more minutes!” yells Lance.

There’s a loud _chunk!_ at the end of the hallway, and Hunk stands up from where he has torn apart and rewired the majority of the access panel. “Blocked one side,” he says, picking up his gun. He fires another round of multishots, thinning the crowd of sentries coming at them. But Hunk’s weapon works best when he can stand in one spot and fire, and that makes him a target. He ducks into cover again while Lance shoots at the approaching crowd. They repeat this method multiple times, but it’s clear they’re losing.

“Pidge!?”

“I’m trying! I’m trying!”

Lance fires shot after shot, his focus narrowed to whichever sentry he’s targeting next. The doors that Hunk jerry-rigged shut are straining, and Lance can see metal hands and the barrels of guns fighting to wedge their way through.

“PIDGE!”

“Just a…just a…”

Keith joins them at the door, picking up a Galra gun and shooting. His aim is terrible, but it’s better than nothing.

“Okay! I got it!”

“Hold them!” says Hunk, ducking back into the room. Lance wants to say he’s already doing everything he can to hold them, what else is he supposed to do, but he doesn’t have the breath.

And then Hunk reappears with something he—found? made?—and throws it into the oncoming horde where it immediately explodes. Lance chokes on smoke, and then Pidge is behind him screaming, “GO GO GO!”

They make a break for it, Hunk firing his multishot, Keith slashing his way through with his weird knife (which is suddenly longer now? When did that happen?).

“This way—!” begins Lance, only to immediately backtrack saying, “No no no no!” as another group of sentries appear in the hallway he’d been aiming for. Shots ring around them, and they’re running, shooting, stabbing, zapping—Lance has lost track of where they are or where they’re going, just following Keith’s impulsive decisions and praying for a break.

They reach a T in the corridors. Keith darts left, but Hunk yanks him back as another group of sentries appears in that direction.

“Let’s go—”

“Nope! They’re coming from this side too!” cries Pidge, struggling to hold onto her backpack and her weapon at the same time.

“They’re already behind us!” cries Lance. Instinctively, he takes position with Hunk in front of Keith and Pidge, laying covering fire. Galra come at them from every direction, but Lance won’t give up. He _can’t_. Surender isn’t an option.

“Let me at them!” shouts Keith. From the sounds of it, he’s being held back by Pidge.

“No! You’ll get shot!” yells Lance.

“We can’t hold this,” says Hunk, still firing with all his might. Lance wishes he had more fire power than single shots and whatever his aim can give him.

“I’ll—!”

From the sound of it, Keith is about to do something extremely stupid, but before he can, the wall behind them explodes. An entire sheet of metal, floor to ceiling, is ripped from its fastenings and crushes a row of sentries. Before any of them have time to regain their bearings, a figure leaps from behind the crumbled metal with a six-foot staff and starts whaling.

She—Lance is pretty sure it’s a she because that vac suit does _not_ leave much to the imagination and hot _damn_ —knocks down five sentries with a single blow and then uses one of the fallen bodies like a bowling ball to topple the entire advancing guard from one side.

“Go!” she orders over her shoulder, spinning her staff in front of her like a shield. “Back through the opening!”

Not one to argue with beautiful alien ladies who also happen to be capable of crushing metal with their bare hands, Lance pushes Keith and Pidge through the hole she made, Hunk close behind them. They tumble through broken wires and torn pipes, coming out in a hallway that, thankfully, is free of Galra at least for the time being.

They don’t get a moment to breathe, though, because not two seconds later the hot alien lady is crashing into them and shoving them forward.

“Go! What are you waiting for? Take the turn on the right!”

Lance starts running because he’s panicking, it doesn’t exactly seem like he has a choice, and the alien lady feels marginally safer than the hordes of Galra soldiers. She keeps yelling, ordering them from the back until they reach open double doors set into the side of one hallway where she rapidly types something into the access panel and manhandles all of them in.

The doors slide closed, leaving all of them inside some kind of small chamber.

“Wait,” says Hunk. “This is an airlock.” He looks frantically at the sealed doors. “We’re in an airlock! We could—”

The alien sends him a sharp look from where she’s crouched on one edge. She’s wearing a white and pink helmet, but Lance can make out surprisingly human features: brown skin, stunning blue eyes, and strange, pink marks on the corners of her cheeks. The hyper-intense expression on her face is slightly terrifying though.

“Just two ticks,” she says. “Trust me.”

It’s not like they have much of a choice. Especially with how Galra soldiers are now prying at the doors.

“Hold tight to your things,” she says.

“Why…?”

The answer comes as the other set of doors, those to _vacuum of space_ , open. They all get sucked out, yelling and scrambling. Spots dance in Lance’s eyes, and he can feel his saliva actually boiling off his tongue. There’s something bright and blue in the exit, but by this point, Lance might just be making up the light at the end of the tunnel. Everything’s topsy-turvy, and his eyes hurt, and—

There’s a sharp _hiss!_ and Lance lands in a tangle of elbows and limbs that are mostly not his own. Then, as the seconds pass, Lance realizes he can _breathe_ and his saliva isn’t evaporating anymore. Blinking rapidly, Lance struggles to disconnect himself from Pidge and get to…well, not quite standing but at least a halfway decent sitting position. Around him, Hunk, Pidge, and Keith seem to have fared about the same.

The alien lady, however, is removing her helmet and rising gracefully to her feet. A plum of white hair is tied on top of her head, and Lance sucks in a breath because this woman is _gorgeous_. And then exhales in a gasp because of Keith’s elbow in his ribs.

“Coran, are we clear?” Her voice is oddly posh, almost British. And it’s answered by another voice through the coms system.

“For the moment if we’re lucky. Wouldn’t count on it. We’ll need the teludav soon, I’m afraid.”

“I see. Thank you, Coran.” She sounds like she’s about to continue, but Hunk beats her to it.

“Um, sorry. Not to be rude or anything, but who _are_ you?”

Beside Hunk, Keith nods seriously, and Pidge pulls her backpack closer to her chest.

The alien lady turns to them, and there’s something almost royal about how she draws herself up. “I am Allura of Altea,” she says formally. “And I could be asking you the same question.”

Her eyes scan over all of them, and her expression wrinkles just a little. “But that can wait until Coran has treated you for space exposure and we have found a safe location.” She goes back to speaking to the coms again. “Coran, come down here please. I will take the bridge.”

And then she takes off at a brisk walk, leaving the rest of them to gape at each other.

As it turns out Altea is, or rather, _was_ a highly advanced planet, one of the key members of the Alliance until the Galra turned on them and destroyed their entire system. The “teudav” is actually a function of their ship that creates wormholes out of Allura’s magic/quintessence/energy-mumbo-jumbo. Allura used to be the princess of the entire _planet_ before her people were destroyed and she and Coran were left the only survivors. The ship, a mid-sized diplomatic vessel, is the last remaining artifact of Altea’s highly advanced technology.

This is all explained by Coran, a man whose alarmingly orange hair and mustache are somehow more otherworldly than his pointed ears or glowing cheeks marks, while he treats their brief exposure to vacuum with some kind of electric-blue cure-all cream.

The shock has worn off and Keith is getting antsy again by the time Allura makes it down to the med bay. Pidge has pulled out her laptop, and Lance watches her scroll, wondering if they even managed to get the information they came for. Their shuttle got left on the Galra ship with most their supplies, too. What if they came all this way only to lose everything?

“Well.” Allura stands over them, her hands on her hips. “Now that we are safe, I think it’s time for you to explain _exactly_ what you were doing in a Galra warship.”

The stern look she aims at them is nearly as effective as Shiro’s dad-face, Lance is _this close_ to spilling his guts, but then he remembers that Shiro isn’t around to save them from the scary alien lady and his stomach crashes.

“Why should we trust you?” demands Keith.

“I’m with Keith,” says Pidge with narrowed eyes. “You nearly got us killed and pretty much kidnapped us. How do we know you’re not with the Galra, too?”

Something flashes in Allura’s eyes that is absolutely terrifying, but it’s gone in an instant. She smooths the front of her suit.

“I am _not_ Glara,” she declares in a way that brooks no argument. “I was on that Galra ship because some information surfaced that I thought was worth investigating. I interfered with _you_ because it was clear that without help you would have been killed—or worse. The Galra do not treat their prisoners kindly,” she adds sternly.

Lance’s stomach curdles. “That’s why we were there! They took Shiro, and we have to save him!”

Allura looks alarmed. “You were going to break someone out of prison?”

“We have to,” says Hunk, firm and steady like he always is once he’s set his mind to something. “We can’t just leave him there. And he would do the same for us.”

There’s a moment where they all nod in solemn agreement. Well, except for Pidge, who has already turned back to her laptop.

“I found the ship they have him on,” she tells the others, ignoring Allura. “I can trace where they’re taking him from there. The flight coordinates downloaded as well. We just have to get there before the orders refresh.”

“Now, are you sure this is a good idea?” says Coran. He might be trying to be gentle, but Pidge’s glasses flash.

“This is my brother!” she says, knuckles white. “The Galra don’t get to have him!”

“Not again,” growls Keith, and with the unhinged energy in his eyes he looks almost as scary as Allura.

Neither Coran nor Allura look moved, though, and they _have_ to be. After seeing that footage, Lance knows they don’t have much time. He digs in his pocket and pulls out his phone, swiping until he finds a decent photo of Shiro that he shows to Allura and Coran.

“Look, look. This is him. See?” Lance waves the picture somewhat desperately. “This is who we have to find.”

Coran’s eyes look sympathetic and sad as he looks at the picture, but Allura gasps.

“ _Champion._ ”

“His name is _Shiro_ ,” snarls Keith.

“Lieutenant Takashi Shirogane if you want to get technical,” adds Pidge coldly.

Allura seems not to hear them. She has one hand out, halfway extended to towards Lance’s phone but not touching.

“He’s your…friend? Brother?” she says, voice still soft.

“He took all of us in when we were lost and took care of us when we didn’t have anyone else,” says Lance, pleading. “He’s our brother and our friend and the best person in the entire universe.”

“You’ve met him before, haven’t you?” adds Hunk, insightful as ever.

Allura’s hand comes down. “Once.”

She doesn’t say anything more, but her demeanor has changed. Her eyes haven’t left the picture on Lance’s phone, and somehow Lance gets the feeling that there’s more in that one word than he could fill in an entire hour.

Finally, she gathers her hands in front of her and looks them all over with a new light in her eyes. “You say he’s been recaptured by the Galra?” she asks, sharp and business-like.

“This afternoon,” says Hunk.

Allura nods once. “And you,” she turns toward Pidge. “You know where he is?”

Pidge nods. “They put him on a Galra warbird. It’s headed towards the Galra command center, but they’re in transit now.”

“I see,” says Allura. “Then we don’t have much time.”

“Princess, are you sure you want to do this?” says Coran. His voice grows quiet. “You might not survive.”

Allura sets her shoulders. “This man—Shiro, you said his name is?—saved me once when no one else would even try. I will not let him suffer now.”

“So you’ll do it?” says Lance. “You’ll help us save him?”

Allura’s eyes grow bright and hard. Somehow, she seems bigger than she was just a minute before. She surveys all of them like they’re soldiers under her command.

“You had better be good at following instructions,” she says. “This won’t be easy. And we’ll have to work quickly.

“But yes, we _will_ save him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we're back to Shiro. I'm sure everything is going swimmingly :))


	6. Shiro part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that warrants the "Graphic Depiction of Violence" warning. Also, Shiro probably counts as suicidal for a bit in this chapter. He not trying to die, but he's not trying _not_ to either so... just be safe, okay?

Shiro’s aware he’s not doing well. Flashbacks have been triggering every few minutes—new, horrifying ones, flashing up new nightmares from his subconscious—but when he opens his eyes again, he’s on another Galra ship with his back aching, ribs groaning, and face stinging. Everything is dark and corrupted purple, and he’s losing track of which version is reality.

“Tsk, tsk, Champion. Such useless rebellion.”

“ _You could have been our greatest weapon._ ’

The Witch.

 _Haggar_.

Shiro _remembers_. It’s not a good thing. His memory is like a chest of disconnected toy parts—a plastic arm here, a wheel there—jumbled and grotesque, nothing coming together to create a cohesive whole, but the parts are there, which is more than what he had before. He remembers Haggar, her smile before some new and terrifying experiment, the bite of her claws in his skin, the way she would torture him, make him scream, pressing pressing _pressing_ until he would plead, beg, promise to do anything just so that it would _stop_. And when it was all over, once she’d gotten what she wanted, the way she’d stand back and laugh. He remembers how she knows every one of his weak points, his exact limits, and she’d toy with him, letting him think he could win, that he could keep _anything_ back from her, and then swoop in to snatch it all away. All with that smug, cackling laughter.

She’s here. She has him again. TK7526-38 seems like a dream. Did he just hallucinate it? Was he ever actually free in the first place?

 _No_. That can’t be true. He can’t—he can’t—Surely, it must be… Shiro struggles to ground himself, but everything he’d normally use as an anchor is gone. There’s no Lion House nudging at the back of his mind, no faint smell of soap, no prick of sand on his skin.

Most of all—no Keith. No Pidge or Lance or Hunk. They… He must not have hallucinated it all then, right? There’s no way he could imagine such incredible people. They _have_ to be real. They—they—

Last thing he remembers, he was yelling at Keith to take the hover, desperate to save them from Haggar and Sendak.

( _Sendak._ He knows the name. No memories surface, but he _knows_.)

Are they okay? Did he get them out in time? He knew it was dangerous, but not nearly as dangerous as Haggar. Even death would be better, he had to—

_“Shiro?”_

Shiro whips around blinking against—purple? black? Which is it?

_“Shiro!”_

His heart jumps. “Pidge!” he yells, frantic. Now that he’s listening, he can hear…

“ _I’m scared, Shiro._ ”

“Hunk! Hunk, I’m here. Just hold on.” Shiro tries to keep his voice steady, but he knows it shakes. They aren’t supposed to be here with him. They’re supposed to be _safe_. He needs to find them. He needs to save them.

“ _They’re hurting me, Shiro._ ”

“LANCE!”

“ _Where are you, Shiro? Why are you letting them hurt me?_ ”

“NO! Lance! _LANCE!_ ” Shiro slams his fist into the wall, the impact of his metal arm jarring his shoulder. He doesn’t care. He tries to light up his hand, but it _hurts_ , bright, metallic nerve pain, and the light doesn’t come. He pounds uselessly at the wall, searching for an edge, a seam, anything. “Lance. _Please_.”

“ _You betrayed us, Shiro_.”

Shiro turns around, ice in his heart. No. Not this. But Keith is there, bruised and beaten. Blood drips from his eyebrow and his lip, and the longer Shiro looks, the more he takes in the horrific stage of Keith’s clothes, and the blood—there’s so _much_ of it.

“ _You led Haggar to us. You let her have us._ ”

“No! Keith, no, I _swear_. I didn’t—I didn’t mean—Keith, I never—”

Pidge _screams_.

No. Not Pidge. Not any of them. Shiro lights up his arm again, he doesn’t care about the nerve pain, he has to get to them. He strikes the wall again and again. He has to—

“ _Why did you leave us, Shiro?_ ”

“No, Hunk.” Shiro feels tears cold on his face. He keeps fighting fruitlessly. “Hunk, I didn’t! I’m here. I’m—I’m—”

It’s not enough. Shiro looks at his arm, stinging and still barely flickering, and pushes _more_. More whatever it is that powers his arm, he shoves at it, pushes it, _demands_ it and brings it up and back—

A hand, thin and terribly strong, stops his motion. Ice cuts through the metal into his nerves, and Shiro _screams._

“None of that, Champion.”

Haggar’s yellow eyes glow above him (when did he crash to the ground?). She’s too dark and solid—this is _real._

“We put a lot of work into you, Champion. You won’t be throwing that away.”

The grip on his arm _hurts_ , and Shiro wasn’t even aware his arm could feel pain.

“You’ll stay with us, Champion,” Haggar croons. “Because this is where you belong.”

“No.” Shiro gnashes his teeth. He realizes now the voices must have been a hallucination, and that gives him just enough strength. “I’ll never join you.”

“But where else will you go?” says Haggar. “Do you think your friends will still want you after they’ve seen what you are?” She shakes her head, like he’s a child who’s just gotten something adorably wrong. “Do they really believe you’re innocent? _Safe_?”

She says the last word like a curse, and suddenly, Shiro’s mind surges and recoils, like a rubber band snapping into place and—

_Shiro stands in the arena, bloodied sword in his hands. Before him, his canine-like opponent keens, clearly favoring a hamstrung leg but attempting to move anyway. The creature’s face pleads for mercy._

_Shiro has his own injuries, but they are unimportant. Distant. He lifts the sword in his grip with certainty._

_The creature tries to scramble away, but Shiro doesn’t give it a chance. He strikes._

_Again._

_And **again**_ **.**

_Shiro hacks and attacks until he is certain that all that is left is a bloodied and very dead corpse. The sand around them is turning dark and sticky with blood while the crowd roars approval. Shiro yanks the sword out of his last strike and stands, his back straight and shoulders square. He smiles, teeth bright, while blood drips in great droplets from his sword._

_He won. He feels triumphant, vindicated._

_**Proud**._

Shiro gasps. Was that a flashback? Or—or— He can’t connect the scene to any context, any other recollection, but it feels real. And those thoughts—those thoughts were _his_.

Shiro stares at Haggar, unable to even feel fear in the face of the horror welling up inside of him. Haggar cups his jaw, almost gentle.

“You are our weapon,” she says. “You were never anything else.”

“Monster,” whispers Shiro.

Haggar smiles like he finally got something right.

 _No_. He tried so hard not to be—!

But that was in his head all along. He killed, and he _enjoyed_ it. No wonder he tried to forget. But that doesn’t change what he _is_.

“Yes,” says Haggar. She drags a nail down his cheek. “You know where you belong.”

He does. He hates it, but he does.

Haggar steps back. Irrationally, Shiro feels _empty_ and _cold_ without her there. His heart throbs.

“Take him away,” she orders while Shiro crashes to his knees.

Cold hands curl around his arms, and Shiro is hauled out.

Shiro is pretty sure he’s in a cell. He’s been flashbacking and drifting, and his head feels like horrifically mangled soup. It’s difficult to tell what is or isn’t real anymore. But when he concentrates all his senses, they seem to confirm it. He has a moment of relative clear headedness now, and he needs to make the most of it.

The memory Haggar reawakened, along with other new and terrifying ones, surge against his already battered mind, trying to drag him under, but Shiro fights them off for now. The Galra have him. He forces himself to _think_. They’ve put him in a cell that feels too familiar, and they want him to fight for them again.

He can’t let that happen.

Shiro focuses with all his might. Maybe he fought and killed once, but he _can’t_ do that again. If this is the last of his autonomy he has left, he chooses this: he won’t let them use him to execute their cruelty.

But Haggar has been inside his head. She _knows_ him, and Shiro knows as much as he might want to refuse, eventually he will break. Which means he _has_ to get out.

He still doesn’t remember how he escaped the first time, and he doubts it would work again anyway. Surely they’ve figured out whatever weakness he exploited and patched it up. He would be very lucky to be able to fight his way out, even without whatever Haggar’s done to his arm. There is, however, another way to get out he realizes. Permanently.

Shiro doesn’t want to die. It’s his survival instincts that will betray him if he stays too long. That’s why he has to go. He has to get out _soon_ , before Haggar gets her claws into him and strips him of his will. And he needs his plan to be foolproof. Either he escapes again, which would be nice but not necessary, or they kill him. He can’t let them take him alive.

But he’s going to have to wait. There’s nothing in the cell with him, not even bedding. His metal arm aches when he tries to light it up. Shiro suspects whatever Haggar did to him made it so he can’t use the arm against them. Fine. Shiro’s won fights without the arm before. Besides, he doesn’t need to win. He just needs to be dangerous enough to be put down.

That settled, Shiro sits back to plan. His mind is clearer now that he has a goal. It’s not a happy goal, but it’s one he can put his whole self behind. He’ll still try to escape, if only to honor that part of him that aches at not being able to say goodbye to Keith, Lance, Pidge, and Hunk. He regrets leaving them like this. He always wanted them to leave _him_ when they were ready. But they’re strong. They’ll be better off without him. Eventually. As long as they’re safe and he’s no longer Haggar’s attack dog, he can live with that. Or not live. It’s all the same.

Still, Shiro flinches when his cell door is thrown open. There are lessons carved into his bones saying he needs to obey, be a good prisoner, take whatever they throw at him because the alternative is pain. Shiro is out of practice, and the sudden flood of helplessness paralyzes him.

Sendak steps into the cell. He is huge, and he crowds the space carelessly. Intentionally.

“So this is Champion.” His lips stretch into a sadistic smile. “Pathetic.”

Shiro, stuck between snarling in defiance and cowering, remains frozen.

Sendak laughs.

Then, casually as an afterthought, he backhands Shiro across the face.

Caught by surprise, Shiro’s head snaps back and he collapses. He feels the stringing throb of his cheek, but before he can do anything about it or even move to get up, Sendak places a foot on the center of his back, putting pressure on his badly battered ribs. Shiro wheezes in pain.

Sendak doesn’t even taunt him, content merely to cause Shiro pain and prove just how powerless he is.

All of Shiro’s instincts say to lay low, give Sendak what he wants and just pray this passes quickly.

But.

 _No_.

Shiro’s not going to be a prisoner anymore. He won’t play their games.

Fighting back right now wouldn’t win him anything either, he reminds himself. He needs room for more mobility. More factors for the Galra to contend with. His best shot is to play along until he gets a chance to strike.

Sendak removes his foot—Shiro gasps at a resurgence of pain—and slaps energy cuffs on Shiro’s wrists. Shiro expected this, so he doesn’t react. When he can, he gets to his knees and keeps his head down.

“What? No fiery speeches from the Champion?” taunts Sendak.

Shiro takes a certain, savage pleasure from not giving him a reaction. Maybe last time he was always firing back. He was trying to survive. This time, he’s going to _win_.

Sendak snorts and shoves Shiro to his feet. “You’ll break eventually.”

Yes, he will. If he stays here. But Shiro doesn’t have to hold out forever, just long _enough._

Two sentries grab Shiro’s arms as soon as he’s out of the cell. Sendak is too important, too arrogant, to do it himself.

That suits Shiro fine. He knows he can’t take Sendak on his own. But a couple sentries… _enough_ sentries that there’s no one to think about how to neutralize him… Shiro keeps his head down, his bangs falling into his face as he watches his surroundings out of the corners of his eyes. He knows the halls of a Galra warbird, and the sentries follow programmed patrol routes. He used to time them from the confines of his cell. They come to him now as he quiets his mind and forces himself to process all that his surroundings are telling him.

He waits until they reach a crossroads. Sendak is distracted, simply assuming he will be followed. There are other patrols coming toward them, but they aren’t close yet. The time is now.

Shiro takes a quick breath. Then he digs in his heels, bringing the sentries to an abrupt stop. It’s not enough to break their grip, but it does confuse them. Shiro uses that moment against them, letting one sentry’s grip grant him leverage, so he can kick the other in the weak joint of its knee. Then he drops, breaking the first sentry’s grip. He rolls away while the sentries are still disoriented, scrunches into a ball, and pulls his knees to his chest while pushing his arms down and out. There’s yelling—Sendak has definitely noticed—but Shiro’s hands are in front of him now. He shoves to his feet and runs.

The path he chooses is almost certainly suicide, with a patrol already coming, but that’s the point. They won’t be expecting it. Sentries are devastating in organized patterns, but not nearly as effective when taken by surprise. Shiro runs directly into the patrol, slamming his hands into one sentry and hip checking the other. He leaps over the fallen heaps, laser blasts raining around him, and runs into the next hallway. He has to cause a lot of damage and _fast._

The next few minutes are a blur. Shiro hits and runs and fights purely on instinct. He aches from new injuries, but it’s distant. All that matters is getting _out_. The bloodier the better.

And then Shiro bursts into an empty hallway. He thinks he recognizes where he is, not far from the emergency pods, and for a moment he thinks he _might actually make it._ Gasping for breath but suddenly burning with adrenaline again, Shiro starts running—

Only for a massive, armored fist to slam into his side and send him flying like a ragdoll. Shiro hits the wall and bounces onto the floor. He gasps for breath. The ribs on his right side _burn_.

“Did you really think you had outsmarted me?”

_No!_

Sendak swaggers, slow and casual, a predator that’s cornered its prey.

Shiro spits blood out of his mouth and shoves himself to his feet. He is not going to be taken like this. Still bound, he charges Sendak. Sendak lets him get near before batting him to the side. Shiro’s body aches and strings, but he won’t. Let. Them. _Win_.

He rolls to his feet and charges again. This time he dodges Sendak’s strike but doesn’t get close enough to hit Sendak. His world narrows. He has to beat Sendak. Another strike, another dodge. Sendak’s stance is loose, confident he has the advantage. Shiro can use that. He—

Liquid fire shears across the outside of Shiro’s thigh. His vision goes white, and his leg crumbles. Blaster fire. Shiro forgot about the fucking _blasters_. He forces his eyes to focus again, but it’s too late. He’s lost precious seconds, and Sendak is bearing down on him, grabbing his elbow and flipping him onto his back.

“Had your fun?”

To his horror, Shiro feels tears building behind his eyes. He was so close—He _failed_. No. No. Please, someone, anyone, _please_. Don’t make him go through this again—Don’t _—_

Sendak raises his fist, probably to strike, and it’s doesn’t matter because he lost, he failed—

And then, before the blow can land, the air is split with a _ROAR_.

Shiro struggles to take in the blur of motion in front of him. All he catches is something big and solid crashing into the scene, hip checking Sendak hard enough to make him stumble.

“NOT SHIRO, YOU BASTARD!”

Shiro’s mind is catching like a record scratch. The angry, bristling figure holding a multishot blaster and standing in front of Shiro is familiar but—but—

Sendak gets to his feet, expression twisted into hate.

This isn’t happening. He’s hallucinating again. But still, he sees that familiar form standing in front of him, and he can’t—

“Hunk!” Shiro rasps out. “Don’t—”

Shiro’s voice is drowned out in the commotion, but it’s not needed because Sendak is cut short by a strange, purple blade slashing at the gap in his armor underneath his ribs and—Wait. Is that Keith’s knife? Is that a _sword_?

Keith ducks and swerves, too fast to hit, guarding Hunk. A familiar grappling hook snags around Sendak’s prosthetic, crackling with electricity. Sendak snarls, _howls._ He yanks his trapped hand, and Pidge skids across the floor until she hooks her ankle around a doorframe and braces herself, straining against Sendak with every fiber in her tiny, furious body. And Hunk is still standing over Shiro, solid and immobile and completely open to attack.

Shiro tries to tell Hunk to _go, leave, RUN!_ but his voice doesn’t seem to work. He feels frozen and helpless and _terrified_ , to a degree he hadn’t felt even the last time he came face to face with Haggar. As he watches, Hunk fires his multishot at incoming sentries as they fire back at him and Keith takes a chance at Sendak that could easily get him killed—

“Shiro. Hey, Shiro…”

Something touches Shiro’s arm, and he flinches, curling in on himself.

“Hey, no.” That voice is _gentle._ “Shiro, look at me. Just look at me, okay?”

There’s Lance kneeling beside him, hand extended but not touching. His face is young and innocent, awash with sympathy that doesn’t belong here, especially not directed at Shiro. He’ll get hurt. Shiro feels his mouth working, but he can’t get words out.

“Are you with me?” says Lance, calm, soft, dripping with kindness that _burns_. “It’s okay. Just focus on me, all right?”

Shiro finally finds his voice.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

But Lance shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. This is exactly where we need to be.” Ignoring Shiro, his hands trail lightly over Shiro’s body. “These handcuffs are going to be a problem and—oh.” He’s found the blaster wound on Shiro’s leg. “Can you walk?”

“Yes,” grunts Shiro. It’s just a flesh wound, more of a burn than actual damage. Painful, but Shiro can work through it.

“Of course you’d say that,” Lance rolls his eyes. “Hey, no. Stay with me,” Lance tries to turn Shiro’s face back towards him, but Shiro _can’t_ just focus on Lance. Hunk is in danger. Keith and Pidge—

Keith and Pidge.

Sendak finally rips Pidge from her anchor around the door and sends her flying into Keith, where they both collapse into a tangle on the floor. Free, Sendak advances on Hunk.

Shiro cries out, far too late, far too useless to do anything but—

_Blam!_

Lance nails Sendak directly between the eyes, gun appearing out of nowhere, and Sendak tumbles like a ton of bricks.

Is Sendak—is he—?

Before they can find out, Keith answers the question by getting up and driving his sword (Seriously, since when did Keith have a sword? Shiro swears all he used to have was a knife) through Sendak’s chest.

“Pidge, get over here,” urges Lance. “We need help with the handcuffs.”

Shiro blinks stars from his eyes. This can’t be—they shouldn’t—What are they doing? They can’t kill for him!

Pidge is there, working rapidly on his handcuffs, and Shiro wants to protest, but the pain in his leg suddenly flares again.

"Sorry, sorry,” apologizes Lance. He has a tube of blue cream that he’s spreading over Shiro’s wound. “We’ll patch you up for real soon. This is just to get you by.”

None of this is _right_.

“You should get out of here,” says Shiro weakly. “I can’t—I’m not—”

“Shh, Shiro. We’ve got this.” Somehow Hunk manages to sound gentle even with his blaster in his arms, mowing down the sentries coming their way.

“He’s not totally there,” Lance explains.

“No, that’s not it,” says Keith. Shiro can _hear_ the eyeroll. “He just thinks we shouldn’t be doing anything for him.” Keith stalks towards Shiro, eyes blazing. “Screw you, Shiro,” he spits. “We care about you, too, so deal with it.”

There’s a click, and Pidge wrangles the handcuffs off his wrists. Shiro’s still not quite convinced this is _real_ , but it’s offsetting enough it _could_ be. They _could_ be here, even though Shiro did everything in his power to ensure they wouldn’t be.

“There you go,” says Pidge.

“My arm doesn’t work,” Shiro warns her, rolling his wrists. “I can’t fight with it.”

“That’s fine,” says Lance soothingly. It’s a bit odd to see Lance being the calm one but not exactly _surprising_.

“We’ll fix it,” says Pidge fiercely. Her eyes blaze bright behind her glasses, and the emotion in her face is actually a little frightening. Brilliant, impressive, but frightening. “Better yet, we’ll build you a new one. A _better_ one.”

“Yes we will, but right now, there’s like three more patrols coming towards us,” says Hunk. “I’m not going to be able to hold them off forever.”

“Right,” says Lance. “Time to get out of here.”

“I can buy us time,” says Pidge, darting for one of the consoles.

Keith drops into her place. “Lance, go help Hunk. I’ve got Shiro.”

Shockingly, Lance just picks up his gun and obeys with only a quick handclasp on Keith’s shoulder.

Keith gets Shiro’s arm around his shoulders and starts heaving Shiro to his feet.

“Keith…” Shiro tries one last time. He knows by now how stubborn they can be, but they’re in so much danger. He’s not _worth_ that.

Keith steps into Shiro’s personal space, his face inches away from Shiro’s, still supporting Shiro’s weight as best as Shiro will allow him.

“We’re brothers,” he says. “Remember? This is what brothers do. You’d do it for me.”

Shiro is reminded all over again of the absolute _faith_ Keith has in him, and he doesn’t know what to do with it, not when he’s bruised and broken, dirty, a monster to everyone around him, and Keith is still here, claiming him as a _brother._

Keith’s expression, if possible, gets more intense but more open, too. “Pidge has had enough people killed by the Galra. And Lance and Hunk already lost their families. Are you really going to make them lose you, too?”

Shiro boggles, both at the brutal honesty and Keith’s surprisingly generous perspective. What has he missed?

“C’mon.” Keith tugs on him, apparently recognizing that he’s won.

The gunshots are growing louder.

“Okay, time to go!” calls Lance.

There’s the distinctive report of Hunk’s multishot. “Yeah, time to get out of here.”

“Got it!” calls Pidge. The lights flicker and then sprinklers descend from the ceiling spraying…some kind of foam?

“Let’s go.” Keith pulls Shiro, and they all start running. Shiro has no idea where they’re going, but he trusts they do. Whenever they cross control panels, Hunk and Lance stand guard while Pidge locks doors, turns on alarms, does whatever she can to cover their backs. Keith stays next to Shiro, cutting down barriers and whatever threats get too close. If Shiro weren’t so terrified of what will happen to them if they don’t get out, he would be incredibly proud of their teamwork.

But he is terrified. He doesn’t know how to live with himself if _one_ of them gets harmed because of him. Let alone all of them.

“One more hallway,” says Lance, tapping one finger against his gun, the only sign of nerves he’s shown the whole time.

“It’s clear,” says Pidge, disconnecting from a console. “There’s only one door besides this one, and I’ve infected it with a virus.”

Keith presses the panel to close the door behind them and then slashes his sword through it. “And now this one is dead, too.”

“Let’s get going,” says Hunk. His voice is tight, but his shoulders are steady and when he catches Shiro looking, he sends him a reassuring smile like _Shiro_ is the one who needs comfort.

The hallway is clear as promised. They move quickly, not running anymore but certainly not dawdling. Hunk and Lance keep their guns out, Lance leading and Hunk in the back. Keith stays at Shiro’s side, and Pidge presses against his hip. They’re focused and steady, and Shiro, proud of them, doesn’t want to break that.

But then he feels it.

For a second, Shiro tries to ignore it ( _No no please let it not be true_ ), but the cold is in his bones and then he gets the whiff—sharp, cutting like stale ozone—and he can’t. He turns back the way they came.

And there she is. Darkness billows around her, clinging to her robes like fog, and in the midst of it, her eyes glow terrible, electric yellow.

“Get out,” says Shiro. He tries to make it an order, but it comes out like a whisper.

“No. Shiro, what—?”

Shiro catches Keith around the chest and throws him back. “No! Go! Run!” Still, his voice comes out more like a plea than an order, and his stubborn, loyal, _stupid_ -brave kids circle closer instead of listening to him.

Haggar smiles, showing her jagged teeth. “So these are your friends.” Her voice is almost pleasant which makes it that much more chilling. “So… _young_.”

Terror splinters Shiro’s soul. He’s holding Keith and trying to push back the others. “Go! _Go!_ ” he pleads. “She’ll hurt you—you have no idea. _Go!_ ”

The four of them, damn them, raise their weapons, and Haggar only smiles.

“But why should I hurt them?” she asks. Her tone is almost reasonable. “There’s no need for that. Not when you’ll hurt them yourself. _Won’t_ you, Champion?”

For the first time since he’d been recaptured, his arm lights up again brilliant, blazing white. Shiro stumbles away from Keith, but the arm moves without his input, fingers flattening into a blade and arm coming up into strike position.

“Shiro, what’s happening?”

“I’m not—I can’t—” Shiro tries to tug on his arm with his other hand but to no avail. The grip seems to be bleeding into the rest of his body, following the lead of his arm, no matter how he resists. “You have to get out of here!”

“We’re not leaving you!” yells Keith.

“Fight it, Shiro!”

Haggar cackles. Lance fires a shot that should land in the middle of her chest, but she vanishes and reappears half a step over, still cackling. Shiro is fighting to lock his body, keep himself from moving, but his arm is like a rudder that he can’t control.

“Shiro…” Hunk reaches out—reaches for _his arm._

“DON’T!” Shiro shrieks. Even as he speaks, the arm tries to strike at Hunk. “DON’T! _IT WILL KILL YOU!”_

“Shiro, maybe we can help!” pleads Pidge.

“Such loyal friends, Champion,” purrs Haggar. “Should we show them the truth?”

“Stop tormenting him!” yells Keith.

Shiro’s vision is narrowing, but just before it goes to black, it snaps back in perfect, vivid technicolor. He’s like a passenger pressed up against the glass of his own body.

“Go! Get out of here!” Shiro pleads—or tries to. He doesn’t know if it gets out. There’s angry yelling around him, fading in and out like a badly tuned radio, and quickly turning into real fear. It destroys him, but at the same time his mind is planning, picking out the best way to take down each of them. Cold and cynical, he pictures victory with chilling anticipation. Hunk will be a good first target. He’s less reactionary than the others and not braced for an attack. Shiro’s knees bend, muscles coiling into a deadly spring. He braces—

And a lean, white staff smacks him firmly in the chest. He goes down, gasping when the point of it presses into his sternum. Blue-white lights crowd his vision, and a feeling like being doused in ice water starts at the tip of the staff, spreading outward.

The staff retreats, as do the lights, but the ice feeling is still working its way through his veins. Shiro can almost make out white boots pounding past his face on the floor. It’s difficult: his head is suddenly dark and foggy, but he can distinctly hear a ringing voice he doesn’t recognize.

“HOW _DARE_ YOU! YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO THE NAME OF ALTEA!”

Haggar’s cackling turns into a disgusted hiss, and Shiro lifts himself up on his elbows enough to see her throw a vicious ball of lightning. It hits the figure in white, but they don’t falter. Instead they glow, brighter and bluer, until the light becomes blinding and then they throw the vitriol right back at Haggar.

“Take him and get out of here,” they order over their shoulder. “I’ve got the witch.” And staff whirling, lights glowing, they advance while Haggar hisses insults.

“Shiro. _Shiro_.” Keith is suddenly right there, leaning over in concern and gently touching Shiro’s face. “Are you all right?”

Shiro groans and tries to sit up, but his body, although back under his own control, feels about as responsive as overcooked pasta.

“Right. Dumb question,” says Keith. Awkward but gentle, he pushes Shiro’s sweaty bangs out of his face. “We’ve got you, okay? You don’t need to worry anymore.”

Keith sounds calm and confident, and despite himself, Shiro can’t help believing him at least a little. Where did his fiery little hothead go?

“You and Pidge should go ahead and get our way out,” Lance tells Keith. “We’ve got Shiro.”

Keith melts away, and then Hunk appears in his place bending down—and pulling Shiro’s Galra arm over his shoulder.

“Don’t! It’s dangerous, I could—”

Hunk doesn’t listen at all and lifts Shiro to his feet. “No, no, nope,” says Hunk. “We didn’t come this far just to leave you, Shiro.”

“All the more reason to get far away from the witch lady, right?” wheedles Lance, already following the way where Keith and Pidge went. “Besides, I think Allura’s got it handled.”

Shiro glances over his shoulder, where he sees explosions of blue and purple lights locked in a fierce fight—Then the smell of quintessence hits him, and he doubles over, fighting back vomit. Hunk catches his sudden dead weight and keeps pulling them forward. After that, Shiro can’t muster up the energy to protest anymore.

“It’s not far now,” promises Lance. Shiro is mostly moving under his own power by the time they reach the end of the hallway, but Hunk stays nearby anyway. In fact, he seems very reluctant to let go of Shiro. Perhaps it’s for the best: Shiro’s having a hard time concentrating again. He’s aware of Hunk’s warm hand still around his waist and is distantly impressed with the way Hunk and Lance work together with hardly any words, but he can’t keep it together enough to process what has happened or make a plan for the future.

They turn into a hangar, where Hunk and Lance immediately press him against the wall. There are sentries, but they haven’t been spotted yet.

“Where…?” begins Hunk.

“There!” Lance jerks his chin toward the ship in the back of the hangar, where Shiro can just make out the green of Pidge’s backpack. “Let’s go!”

They run. There isn’t time for anything else. Aware he isn’t present enough to be useful, Shiro just tries his best to stay between Lance and Hunk and not make extra trouble. It’s pandemonium, shouts and shots ringing off the walls, and Shiro has the sinking feeling not all the shots he’s hearing are real. Lance and Hunk are though. He has to believe that. He has to trust them.

Keith throws the doors open just before they reach the ship. Lance immediately drops to one knee, shooting at the Galra from under the ship’s wing while Hunk not so gently pushes Shiro in.

“Where’s Pidge?”

“She’s getting—”

“Here!” Pidge scrambles into the cabin, dragging her backpack behind her. Shiro is trying to keep track of where Hunk is, what Lance is doing, where Keith is going—he’s surprised when Pidge drops her backpack and flings herself into his chest.

“Wha—? Oh. Pidge.”

Pidge’s skinny arms wrap tightly around his waist. “I found you. _We_ found you. We got you back.” Her fingers dig into the back of his shirt, holding him like she’s afraid he’ll disappear if she lets go.

In shock and barely able to register what has happened, Shiro gingerly pats her head.

“We’re coming in hot!” yells Lance from outside. “Keith, are you ready?”

Keith throws himself into the pilot’s chair, hands flying over the controls. “Ready.”

“Are the hangar doors fixed?” Hunk asks Pidge in an undertone. 

Reluctantly, Pidge detangles herself from Shiro. “All set. They won’t know what’s happening until too late.”

Lance bursts through the door, yelling, “GO GO GO!” followed closely by the same person in white who battled Haggar. They seal the door as Keith slams the sticks and the alarms start ringing. The ship launches into space, and in the scramble to brace themselves, Shiro, disoriented and still in shock, stumbles. He is caught neatly around the waist, and when he looks up, he sees the one member of the crew he doesn’t know.

She—Shiro reads her as feminine although with aliens, gender is anyone’s guess—holds Shiro up with disconcerting ease, easier even than Hunk had despite being perhaps only as tall as Lance and not any bigger. She’s remarkably similar to a human and looks around the others with a distinct air of authority.

“We need to lose the fighters before we can loop around behind the gas planet,” she orders, and Shiro’s contrary, wild kids just nod along. Even Keith who is at the helm, dodging fighters and laser fire both. It should spell disaster for such an untrained pilot, but Keith’s instincts prevail. Not a single shot hits. Meanwhile, Pidge is working in the copilot seat, talking about jamming signals and misdirecting commands.

There’s the tiniest break in fighters. “Take it!” cries Pidge, and Keith bursts through, finally leaving the swam behind and banking hard to curve around the gas planet.

“Everyone ready yourselves,” says the alien still holding onto Shiro. “Pidge, have you prepared the program?”

“Yep. I uploaded it before we took off.”

“Good. We will only have half a dobosh to make the switch. Speed is key.”

The others nod like a well-trained crew. Shiro finds himself snapping his spine straight despite his strained and battered muscles. It’s been ages since he was last enlisted, but this woman screams Superior Officer and for a second Shiro is right back at the Garrison.

Until they curve around back of the gas planet, that is, and Shiro sees what’s waiting for them.

“Is that—?” His eyes skim over the sleek ship. Medium build, designed for deep space and small crews. Glimmering with a distinctive pearly-white sheen that Shiro has only seen once before and at a distance. “Is that an _Altean_ ship?”

The name he just barely remembers, but Shiro will never forget the demonstration he snuck a peak of at fifteen and the day he decided flying for Earth would never be enough.

“I thought they were all destroyed,” he whispers, dredging up history from a lifetime ago.

“Most were,” says the woman—Altean, she must be _Altean_. “This is the only one left.”

There’s grief as she speaks, but before Shiro can respond, Lance snickers.

“Of course he starts drooling over the ship.” Lance smiles, but it’s strangely soft. “It’s good to know you’re there, Shiro.”

Shiro blinks at him—he has words, he _knows_ he has words, but they all seem to have left him at the moment. 

“Almost there,” warns Keith.

“I’ll take Shiro,” says the Altean woman, and he doesn’t get a chance to protest before she has his waist in an iron grip and Shiro has already decided she’s not someone he wants to argue with. They’re heading towards the Altean ship (Shiro still can’t believe he’s seeing one _in person_ ) at a speed that with anyone else at the helm, Shiro would be sure would end in collision, but Keith matches the speeds exactly and settles against the docking station with barely a bump. And then the Altean is ordering, “Go go go!” and they’re piling out of the Galra ship as fast as possible, Shiro being carried like he’s nothing more than a sack of potatoes.

They all tumble into the airlock. The moment space-side doors close, the Galra ship’s thrusters engage again, and it breaks away.

“WORMHOLE!” yells Hunk.

Shiro is set on his feet, swaying and blinking against the glowing blue lights around him, and not two seconds later, the viewscreens light up with swirling blue as well. It’s like dropping into the middle of a lights show where everything is too close and too bright and at some point…

Shiro’s knees…

…stop working.

He’s aware of blue lights, of hands on him, of many voices calling out his name, but after everything, he’s simply run out of processing power and fades.

Shiro wakes up with his head on a warm, unusually firm pillow. There’s several points of heat distributed randomly along his body like a very spotty blanket. It’s not uncomfortable, just…odd. In fact—Shiro’s thoughts rise like bubbles in molasses—in fact, somehow he expects to be in pain. A lot of pain, he thinks, but at _least_ bruises. And yet the most he feels is stiff limbs from staying still too long. And…

And something in his Galra arm.

“NO!” Memories crash to the surface, and Shiro explodes upright, yanking his arm protectively against his chest. “DON’T!”

Several voices rain down on him.

“Shiro, Shiro! It’s _okay_!”

“They’re just trying to help! It’s not—”

“Give him some space!”

“Breathe, Shiro. Just breathe. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Slowly, Shiro takes in his surroundings. He’s slumped against—Oh, Hunk. That’s who his pillow was. Hunk’s arm is now protectively around him, fingers curling over his hair. Lance looks like he just got dumped onto the floor and is tangled with Keith. But that means—there’s one missing—

“Shiro doesn’t like his arm messed with,” says an accusatory voice above him. “We should have warned him.”

Pidge! Shiro twists around and finds her sitting on the back of the couch, legs dangling by his shoulder. She gives him a familiar crooked smile when she sees him looking.

Okay. They’re all here. They’re okay? Shiro starts counting. Hunk. Keith. Lance. Twist around, find Pidge. Check on Hunk again. Keith. Lance—

“Pidge, get down so Shiro can see you,” says Lance. “He’s not going to rest easy until he can see all of us.”

Shiro blinks, surprised Lance can read him so easily, but then Pidge slides down next to him and he just feels relief. He can feel Hunk, Keith and Lance are in front of him, and now he can see Pidge. He goes to ruffle her hair, but then he realizes it’s his Galra hand and immediately yanks it close to his chest.

“You okay?” asks Pidge.

“It could hurt you,” whispers Shiro.

“Not so likely now, I’d say!” A man with an alarmingly orange moustache suddenly bursts in front of him. “Nothing Coranic the Mechanic couldn’t fix!”

Shiro stares, still hugging his arm to him. “Sorry,” he manages. “Who are you?”

“That is Coran,” says a new voice. A woman with a cloud of white hair stands beside him. “I apologize if he is a little…overenthusiastic. I am Allura of Altea. Princess Allura, formerly,” she adds. She pauses, hesitant as if she’s waiting for something from him.

Shiro studies her. She’s not wearing a helmet anymore, but he thinks…

“You were on the ship,” he says. “You fought for us.”

For just a moment, she looks disappointed. But it is gone so quickly, Shiro might have imagined it. “Yes,” she says. Her nose wrinkles. “The Galra’s treatment is despicable. I could not allow it.”

“I think you saved me,” says Shiro softly. “Thank you.”

Allura waves it off like it’s nothing, but it’s _not_. Shiro was back in his nightmares, and although his body seems to be miraculously healed, his mind feels tender and battered. He’s struggling to understand.

“What _happened_?”

“The Galra took you,” bites out Keith. “Someone tipped them off…”

“Lubos. I bet it was Lubos,” accuses Lance. “Selfish, scheming jerk.”

“We’ll destroy him,” vows Pidge.

Before Shiro can get in a “wait, no,” Keith continues.

“They took off with you and were taking you to the Galra command center to…” Here, Keith’s voice falters. “To do whatever it was they were doing with you last time.” He looks at the ground, expression frustrated and bitter. Shiro’s stomach curdles. Do they know…?

Hunk picks up where Keith left off. “We weren’t going to let them get away with that. Not with you. So we figured out how to get off planet and into a Galra trade station to find out where they took you.”

“Which _maaaaaybe_ we didn’t think through quite enough?” says Lance. “But then Allura showed up and kicked butt so it all turned out fine.”

Allura tilts her head and gives Lance a slight smile that might be indulgent and might mean _there’s a lot more to that story._ “I had been monitoring Galra signals for quite some time,” she explains. “When you were recaptured, I thought it worth my time to investigate. After running into your friends, we found we had similar goals and agreed to work together.”

Shiro tries to process this. He looks at Allura. “You were looking for me?” he asks.

“There were…certain coincidences,” she hedges. She looks down at her hands, lip caught between her teeth, and Shiro gets the sense he shouldn’t pry.

Instead, he just tries to make sense of everything that’s happened in the last few—Hours? Days? How long was he gone? He remembers Haggar and all kinds of horrible new memories he wishes he could forget again. Some are of the arena, but most are Haggar’s lab, the druids and the cold, Haggar _in_ the arena and…and… Memories threaten to drown him, and Shiro struggles to hold them back. Focus. What does he remember from _now_? There was Haggar. And then the realization he had to _get. out._ He remembers his sheer astonishment when Hunk and the others found him, even his pride in them, but then—

Shiro’s head snaps up. He scrambles with his legs until he’s pressed against the back of the couch and his knees are tucked up in front of him. Horror is burning like acid in his bones.

“You shouldn’t have saved me,” he says with conviction and dread.

“What? Shiro, no! Of course we should have saved you!” cries Lance.

“No no.” Shiro shakes his head. Every time he blinks, he can almost see that hallway and Haggar baring down on them all. “I’m dangerous. I could hurt you. _I tried to hurt you!_ ”

“No, you didn’t,” snaps Keith. “That witch did. It wasn’t you.”

"But it _was_ me!” protests Shiro. He can still remember calculating how to take each of them out with terrible precision. “She got her claws into me, and she could do it again. I’m dangerous. _You can’t trust me!_ ”

There’s an explosion of voices and noise, more than he can make sense of, but it’s suddenly overridden by an authoritative, “Enough!”

Allura steps forward. She puts her hand on Shiro’s shoulder, squeezing firmly until Shiro meets her eyes.

“You are correct,” she says calmly. Shiro stares at her with hope and relief. At least one person is taking this seriously. “Haggar did use the spells and mechanisms she had built into your arm to attempt to control you,” Allura continues. “However, that is not possible now. When you woke up, Coran and I were just finishing up removing those pieces.”

“I may not look it, but I’ll have you know I was the head engineer on the Castle of Lions once upon a time,” says Coran, puffing up his chest. “That arm might be Galra made, but the core of it is Altean. It was easy enough to sort out what didn’t belong.”

“You had actually done a lot of the work yourself,” says Allura. “The more you used your arm without Haggar’s influence, the more you weakened the spells she’d placed on it. Your quintessence is very… _potent_.”

“Stubborn, I’d say,” says Coran, his moustache twitching. “Quite difficult to control I’m afraid.”

Allura tilts her head. “I’d rather say _strong_. But in any case, Haggar made a mistake when she powered your arm from your quintessence and yet expected to still be able to control it. Coran removed some of the hardware that tapped into your neural pathways, and I merely closed off a few channels that had been left open. The arm is entirely yours now.”

Shiro still has his arm curled across his chest. He wants to believe it, but he doesn’t think he can.

“How can you be sure?”

“My repairs are impeccable, young man!”

“ _Coran_ ,” chides Allura. She looks at Shiro. “Light up your hand.”

Shiro looks at her in alarm, but Allura just raises an eyebrow and Shiro doesn’t have it in him to disobey her.

“Stay back,” he warns Pidge and the others. “Be on your guard.” Then he focuses on his hand.

It lights up immediately. No resistance, no pain or need to force it like Shiro had come to expect. It even looks different, glowing brighter, closer to the violet of blacklights than the usual pink.

“Now turn it off,” says Allura.

And again, Shiro barely has to think it before it’s off again. He gingerly rotates his hand, staring at it. He’s never been able to manipulate it so _easily_. He hadn’t noticed it before, or at least hadn’t thought it was something that could change, but his arm had always taken a bit more effort to use, like it was reluctant to listen to him. It’s still not exactly like his natural arm, but it is _so_ much better. He isn’t fighting it anymore. He feels… _lighter._

“Haggar’s taint has been entirely removed,” reports Allura. “If you have any further concerns, you are, of course, welcome to come to us, but you need not worry about Haggar controlling you any longer.”

“We checked for trackers and recording devices when we opened it up, too,” says Pidge. “Hunk and I have been wanting to check it out for a while now actually, but we didn’t want to hurt you or… you know, that’s the only one we have. We didn’t want to break it. But Coran showed us our way around.”

“Not that we’d break into your arm when you’re asleep or anything!” says Hunk hurriedly. “I know you’d hate that. And we don’t want to mess with it for fun either. I mean, it _is_ super interesting. We’ve been taking lots of notes, and I’ve got this idea for how to use the same weight compensation system on a hover—But! The point is we wanted to know how to help you if you need it. And, um, you sort of fainted and you obviously weren’t doing well on the ship, so we wanted to make sure that it wasn’t hurting you.”

Shiro blinks. He’s stunned, and there’s so much information coming at him at once. And still, _still_ he doesn’t quite feel right, like he’s hovering just an inch offset from his body, convinced the next time he closes his eyes, he’ll be with the Galra again and Haggar will be laughing at him. He’s aware of Pidge and Hunk’s warmth on either side of him, and that’s enough of a shock to throw him off.

“We can leave you for now,” says Allura, gently. “I understand all this can be quite overwhelming.”

Shiro _is_ overwhelmed, terribly, but sending them out feels callous and ungrateful. “This is your ship,” he protests weakly. “I don’t want to put you out.”

“Oh, not to worry!” Allura waves her hand. “Coran and I have plenty of other things to be doing. Besides, your friends have missed you dearly. Let them have this time with you.”

Not giving him a moment to argue, she and Coran neatly melt out of the room, and if Shiro didn’t have authority to ask them to leave, he certainly doesn’t have any to demand they stay. So he is left alone with his four incredible, terrifying teenagers he had thought he’d never see again, each looking at him like they’d feared the same.

Had they—Had they really freed him? Did they come after him and get him out? Do they have any idea how much _danger_ they were putting themselves in?

“Are you all right, Shiro?” says Lance.

“Don’t ask him that,” snaps Keith. “He’ll remember where he is and start trying to pretend he’s fine until it kills him.”

“I…” Keith is right: Shiro wants to pull himself together and be what they need him to be. But there’s so much inside, storming and clashing, becoming more intense by the minute. He thought Allura and Coran leaving would have helped, but is hasn’t; instead, it’s all pitched up to a roar. Astonishment and horror, hope and self-loathing, guilt and awe and fear-shame-love—

“You shouldn’t have come for me.”

“Shiro.” Lance’s voice boarders between gentle and exasperated. “We already _told you_ , yes, we should have. You don’t get to argue that.”

“But I’m not…I’m not…”

There’s a pause when Shiro can’t continue, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“…not _okay_?” finishes Hunk.

That’s not exactly where Shiro was going, but it encapsulates the core of it, so he nods, the words too bitter to make it up his throat.

Keith growls like an engine revving up.

“Uh, dude, I get this is an emotional moment and everything, but I don’t think punching anyone is going to help,” says Lance.

“I’m not—!” Keith stomps in front of Shiro, hands clenching and then spraying wide. “I’m going to hug you,” he says like it’s a threat. “In the next five seconds. Unless you tell me to stop.”

Shiro couldn’t find the words even if he wanted to, so Keith grabs his shoulders and pulls him close. As far as hugs go, it’s not the most comfortable. Keith’s shoulder is bony and puts Shiro’s neck at an awkward angle, and his grip is too tight. But it’s comforting anyway, Keith’s pointy chin on top of Shiro’s head like he can somehow protect him. “You don’t get to disappear on me,” he says fiercely. “Not without me coming after you.”

Shiro’s falling to pieces inside. He buries his face in Keith’s shoulder and wraps his arms tightly around him, even as he says in despair, “I’m not who you think I am. I’m not who you need.”

“Shhh, no.” There’s shuffling during which Pidge’s tiny fingers wrap around Shiro’s waist, and then there’s Lance on the same side rubbing his back. “We don’t need you to be anything,” he says. “We just need you to be here.”

Hunk presses against the other side. “We’ve got you. We’re here.”

“We love you,” Pidge adds, muffled against Shiro’s shirt.

Shiro’s internal world is nothing but a horrible, unending howl, but they’re here. They found him, and Shiro doesn’t have the strength to hold back anymore. He collapses into them and finally, utterly lets go.


	7. Shiro part II

Pidge explains the plan as they fly back to the Lion House.

“Where’s the last place the Galra expect you to be?” she asks Shiro when he protests. “Exactly where they found you the first time. So we rigged the shuttle we escaped on. It will keep going toward the Mexis system, and the Galra don’t know we have Allura’s ship or the ability to wormhole. They’ll think you’re still on it. Allura helped me patch up a self-propagating AI program to generate mentions of you where the Galra might find them. We’ve designed it to hit swap moons and black-market trading stations further and further away from the Hub and our planet. We even added mentions of us, in case that’s also something they’re tracking. So they’ll see you apparently fleeing exactly like they expect and never think to come back to where they’ve already looked.

“Allura said they probably only found you because someone tipped them off anyway, and we’ll make sure _that_ doesn’t happen again, so it’s really the safest place you could be.”

The conversation moves on before Shiro thinks to ask _how_ Pidge is planning to make sure no one can tip the Galra off and by that point it’s too late. Shiro’s isn’t doing a good job of keeping track of time anyway. Sometimes he’s there and present, and other times he’s just… _not_. He feels like he’s in some sort of limbo, waiting for the other shoe to drop. One moment they’re in deep space. Then TK7526-38 is blooming on their viewscreen. Then they’re setting down, the doors are opening, there’s a bustle of noise and movement and voices—Is that Thace and Ulaz? Why are they here? What’s going on? Is he imagining things again?

“Shiro?”

Keith’s voice is hushed and gentle. Something isn’t right. Shiro blinks up at him, trying to figure out what he needs to be.

“Hey,” says Keith, still too soft. He smiles like he’s deliberately making it unintimidating. “Do you want to go outside?”

Outside? But then Shiro catches a glimpse of sunlight filtering in, and—Yes. He wants—He _needs_. He can’t stay in this ship any longer, with the artificial lights and the canned air, he needs to—

Shiro shoves himself to his feet, swaying slightly, but he finds his balance again. There’s nothing damaged about his body, not really, something about Altean healing. Noting Keith, but unable to focus on him, Shiro walks past him, to the door, where he finally gets out and—

Sunlight.

Wind.

Prick of sand against his skin.

Faint smell of soap.

It hits him all again. It’s all new— _again_. He’s been taken, torn apart, returned to this planet to start over all over _again_ , and has nothing changed? How many times does he have to _do_ this? How many times is he going to be stripped down, disassembled, and forced to try to put it back together with pieces he no longer recognizes? Why does he have to do this all _again_?

_Stop complaining, Shirogane_ , says the voice that’s gotten Shiro through hard times before and will get him through again. _It’s not going to get you anywhere._ It doesn’t matter that Shiro’s tired. He’s always tired. Sometimes it feels like he’s spent his entire life being tired. What does it matter? He’s here again, on TK7526-38, and that means…

_The House_ , Shiro remembers. He should check on the Lion House. He was supposed to take care of it, and (the thought settles like lead in his stomach) his failure to do so might mean he’s rejected. Still, it’s his responsibility. As he approaches, Shiro realizes at least half the porch is scorched or broken, and there’s a gaping hole in the wall to the sitting room. Shiro vaguely remembers being thrown through that wall, wood splintering at his back while Sendak laughed. It’s probably his blood on the edges now. Some guardian he is. No wonder the Lion House is quiet in his head.

Still, he picks through the rubble, making note of what needs to be repaired, what can be salvaged, what has to be replaced. He feels like he’s on some kind of autopilot. Lose everything, stand up again, pick through the pieces and find what he can to start over …

Shiro makes it through the hole in the wall, touching splinters of wood and burn marks on the furniture. Then picking up knickknacks and setting them back down again, losing focus as he wanders deeper into the House, fingers brushing along the walls, eyes picking up Pidge’s half-finished science project, Lance’s hoodie, someone’s underwear—really? Aren’t they better than this? Shiro goes to pick it up, but somehow he ends up walking past it, past his room, to the end of the hallway where there’s a window that he hesitates at for just a second before tugging it open. He climbs out and up. To the roof.

It’s been a while since Shiro has made time to just watch the sky. Today the smell of the desert is omnipresent, and the shingles are uncomfortably hot beneath the palm of his natural hand. Shiro exhales and tries to just… _be._ No thoughts, no panic attacks. Night is falling, the faintest line of red fading into green along the horizon. Shiro is going to look for stars. He knows where the first ones one should be rising, and he searches them out as darkness gathers around him. The heavens have always been a source of comfort to him, a promise of better things.

But today, the peaceful wonder doesn’t come. This time he looks and…he knows what’s in the space between the stars, and it’s pain. It’s torture. It’s cruelty beyond what he could imagine and glaring, _damning_ indifference. The darkness isn’t a tantalizing mystery: it’s a pit, waiting to devour him. The more Shiro looks, the more he can feel the walls closing in and—

Damnit. _No_. The stars are supposed to be his, the _one good thing_ he’s had. Even when he was a little kid, alone and shuffled between homes, the stars had been a promise that he’d fought for, no matter how bleak things looked. Shiro was going to see them, and it didn’t matter who was on his side and how many there were that weren’t.

But now the stars feel just as threatening and confining as everything else, and the loss burns in his chest. He wants to rage and scream at the Galra—at the entire universe. Hasn’t he lost enough all ready? Why can’t he keep this _one thing_? Isn’t what he’s been through _enough_?

There’s a creak of wood. Shiro whips around, arm up and lit before he’s even registered what triggered him. He blinks, and he’s not sure which is reality: the Lion House roof and devastating stars or the crowded Galra cell he sees.

“Oh, Shiro. I—I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Keith sounds _sad_. It doesn’t matter what’s real or not: Shiro can’t not react to that. But when he looks inside himself for the wherewithal to comfort, he comes up empty.

Belatedly, Shiro realizes his arm is still on. He turns it off and brings his hand down. “Sorry,” he rasps out.

Keith flicks his bangs out of his face. He’s barely on the roof, feet still hanging off the edge. His shoulders hunch in. “Can I join you?”

“I’m not going to be much of a conversationalist,” warns Shiro.

Keith shakes his head and scrambles onto the roof. “That’s fine.” He settles down next to Shiro, leaving a good foot between them. Shiro is both grateful for the space and deeply disappointed. He just feels so _empty._

“Um.” Keith pulls his knees up to his chest, eyebrows pinched together. “Do you want to…talk about it?”

Keith finishes with a wince, and Shiro immediately recoils at the thought. Put on Keith everything that is storming inside him? He’s already taken too much. He _is_ too much. Shiro shakes his head, unintentionally answering the question. He feels Keith’s eyes on him, even as he curls around himself. Keith might not be the fastest to pick up on some things, but he’s always been able to see Shiro, and right now that feels less like a blessing and more like a curse.

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro sees Keith begin to move, and he still nearly flinches when Keith’s hand touches down gently on his shoulder.

“Hey. It’s good to have you back.”

Keith smiles at Shiro from under his bangs, his eyes wide and sincere. It’s the most open expression Shiro’s seen on Keith’s face, and he should be touched, seeing Keith let down his guard like this, but it doesn’t come. Instead the storm inside Shiro surges like a tsunami. He’s afraid to open his mouth for fear of what will come out. He might scream. Or throw up. Shiro curls up tighter, trying to keep all the ugliness and nastiness from spilling out. This is his: his problem, his awfulness, no one else should have to see it. And yet the tighter he curls, the more he fears it’s all about to squeeze out.

_You are our weapon._

Monster.

_You were never anything else._

Killer.

_Murderer._

“…can’t reach—Hunk, let me get on your shoulders!”

“Oof. Okay, but I’m just staying this isn’t very stable.”

"So climb quickly! Keith, is he there?”

Shiro hears Keith move away from him and lifts his head in time to see Keith crouching at the end the roof and Lance’s worried face peeking over the edge.

“He’s here,” says Keith. “I think he’s more with it than he was on the ship at least. But he’s… not good.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of expected,” says Lance, surprisingly serious.

“Does he not want us here?” asks Pidge’s worried voice.

Shiro realizes belatedly that they’re talking about _him_. He’s lost it enough around them already; it’s time to pull himself together. Or at least _try_.

“You can come up. But I’m not going to be good company right now.”

Is that his voice? He sounds _wrecked_. It scratches like he’s been screaming for hours, and Shiro swears he’s been with it enough to at least be sure that hasn’t happened recently.

“Uh, why is everyone looking at me?” asks Hunk suddenly.

“Because you’re good at this,” says Pidge.

“Yeah, you can actually talk to people without, you know, making things worse,” says Lance.

“And you’re nice,” adds Keith.

“Aww, really?” says Hunk. Shiro can imagine exactly the expression and the blush on his face. “Thanks, Keith. Okay, Pidge, I’m going to hand you up, and then, ugh, I really don’t want to climb on the roof, but I’ll do it.”

“And, Shiro—!” Shiro jumps when Lance calls his name. “Don’t think you can tell us it’s not worth it because it is. And it’s _way_ too late to tell us climbing on the roof is dangerous.”

Pidge is the first one over the lip of the roof, and she scrambles across the shingles until she’s in front of Shiro. Then she takes a good look at him and stops at least a foot away. Apparently Shiro has an invisible force field around him now. It hurts more than he thought it would.

Keith and Lance help Hunk onto the roof. They join Pidge, forming a sort of half circle, still giving Shiro space that’s secretly killing him even if he couldn’t handle them being any closer.

Hunk is to the left of Shiro, and his eyebrows bunch up in concern. “How are you feeling, Shiro?”

The directness of the question throws him.

“I’m fine.”

He gets four snorts and one “bullshit” for his troubles.

Shiro ducks his head, feeling like he’s failing.

“What can we do to help?” prompts Lance.

Shiro can’t answer. He feels like a glass vibrating just before it hits resonance and shatters. These kids—Shiro loves them, he does _,_ but they’re _kids._ He’s supposed to be the adult, not the one trapping them in his problems with him. And he had been holding it together so well. He’d almost been enough until Haggar, and now he can’t seem to get that back.

“Look,” he says. His voice still sounds awful and he can’t inject it with the confidence he should, but he does his best. “I appreciate you coming and saving me—”

Shiro swallows. It hits him all over again that they _came after him._ No one’s come after Shiro, not since he was very small. He’s always been left to put the pieces back together on his own, out of sight, out of mind. Shiro had long since accepted that and learned not to expect anyone to hold on to him once he left.

But this time they _didn’t_ just let him go, and Shiro honestly doesn’t know how to deal with that.

“I’m grateful,” he says, and he means it. “But you shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have put yourselves in danger for me like that.”

He gets four outraged looks back, but before they can start protesting again, Shiro pulls himself up and continues.

“It’s a bad investment,” he says, keeping his voice calm and level. “You all have bright futures ahead, and you shouldn’t risk that for a temporary convenience.”

“A… _what?!_ ” splutters Lance, but Hunk’s eyes narrow.

“What do you mean ‘temporary’?”

Shiro sighs and rolls his shoulders back. He doesn’t want to do this, but it’s about time he was honest with them. “This arrangement, this planet, this House—” _me_ “—it’s a temporary measure because you need a place to be right now, and this works. But eventually you’re going to outgrow it and you’ll move on.”

Shiro expects them to acknowledge the logic in that—probably with relief. It must feel good to hear that Shiro knows and accepts what each of them feel deep down but don’t want to tell him.

Instead, he is met with outright horror.

Hunk and Lance lean into each other as if to soften the blow. Keith looks like he just got kicked in the teeth. And Pidge—

Shit. _Fuck_. Shiro hasn’t seen her look that brittle since she first lost her family.

“You don’t want us here?” she says, voice high and fragile.

“No!” Shiro’s heart drops. “No, that’s not what I meant—”

“Then why do you want to us to leave!” cries Keith.

“No, I _don’t_ want you to leave,” says Shiro hurriedly. “I love all of you. That’s not what—”

“You said we were going to leave!” yells Keith. He looks almost wild with panic. “Why would we do that unless you wanted us gone?”

Something ignites in Shiro. “Because it’s _true!_ ” he spits. “You’re all too smart and competent to stay here. Someday soon you’re going to see that. And I—”

Shiro’s not going to survive that.

Someday they’re going to see Shiro for exactly who he is. And when they look at Shiro with disgust—with _contempt_ and disdain—it’s going to destroy Shiro no matter how much he deserves it.

They’re probably beginning to see already.

“You know.” Shiro’s lip move without him meaning to. “You were there,” he mutters. “You _saw_.”

He’s met with silence. Finally, Lance shakes his head.

“Shiro,” he says quietly. “What we saw was the Galra _torturing you_.”

Shiro laughs, sudden and bitter. “I deserved it.”

The resulting explosion is probably predictable.

“ _WHAT?!_ ”

“No!”

“The _hell?!_ ” There’s a loud _crack!_ as Keith punches the roof shingles.

Perversely, Shiro feels energized by their denial. Finally, the mask’s coming off. If they won’t see the truth, Shiro will _make them._

“Do you know what I did last time I was with the Galra?” Shiro is searing with awful emotion. “I killed. I was their attack dog, and anyone who stepped into that arena I took down. I was Haggar’s _pet_. And know what the worst of it is? I was _proud_ of it. I enjoyed tearing that dog-alien to bits, so don’t tell me I’m not a monster and that I didn’t deserve anything they threw at me because it’s _false_.”

“Oh, Shiro…”

“Don’t!” Shiro ducks his head down, covering his ears like a little kid. Hunk’s empathy burns like acid on an open wound.

“But, Shiro—”

“DON’T!”

“You weren’t proud of it,” says Keith.

Shiro picks his head up and glares. “The memory came back. Haggar made sure of _that_. I remember every minute of it, I was glad to do it, so don’t fucking tell me I don’t know what I felt, Keith!”

But Keith meets him with a glare of his own. “You _weren’t_ proud of it,” he repeats. “Any of it. You were horrified. It’s torn you up _months_ after. You couldn’t hide it no matter how hard you tried. You hated it.”

“You’re not listening—”

“Aren’t we kind of missing the obvious?” interrupts Lance. He uses one hand to push Keith back, shaking his head. “Shiro, you said _Haggar_ made you remember.”

“Oh,” says Hunk. “Yeah, that’d do it.”

Shiro is reluctantly but quickly growing angry. “It doesn’t matter _how_ I remembered. The point is it happened. I did it.”

“But, Shiro,” says Pidge. Instead of looking horrified like she should, she scoots closer, almost eager with how she fiddles with her glasses. “What _exactly_ do you remember?”

Shiro remembers looking at a living being’s blatant fear and consciously not stopping. Not _caring_.

"Can you remember _why_ you did it?” Pidge pushes. “Or who that alien was or anything about them? Because, no offense, but I’d trust any memory that witch pulled up about as much as I’d trust a download named ‘Not A Virus’ from a sketchy website.”

Shiro shakes his head. “No. It’s real. Those were _my_ thoughts.”

“Then they deserved it,” says Lance likes it’s the most casual thing in the world.

Shiro _glares_.

Lance leans back but mostly manages to retain his casual posture. He shrugs, meeting Shiro’s eyes too sharply to actually be uncaring. “We’ve known you for how long, Shiro? We know you can beat the crap out of anyone you need to, but you only use it on people who really deserve it, and then only if you have to. Normally to protect _us._ So, yeah, if someone managed to piss you off enough to end them with no regrets, they must have deserved it.”

If Lance thought that would soothe Shiro, he was wrong. Shiro’s temper has hit a breaking point.

“You don’t get to say something’s okay just because I did it!” he spits. “Violence like that is _never_ acceptable. No matter the provocation—”

“It must have been _really_ awful, then,” Hunk says, his voice thick. “For you to break like that.”

Shiro freezes, his hackles up.

“You must have been really stressed,” Hunk continues empathetically. “And—and _hurt_. I can’t imagine how much pain you had to be in to lose your control like that. It must have been terrible.”

Shiro swallows hard. Breathing is suddenly difficult.

“It’s still hard for you, isn’t it?” Hunk continues like he’s speaking his realizations out loud, and it _hurts._ “You—You’re still carrying so much of that with you, and to be yanked back there again—”

Shiro flinches and curls in on himself.

“Look.” That’s Keith, and his hand rests hesitantly on Shiro’s shoulder. “I’ve hit the wrong people, too. It’s shit when everyone else has power, and you don’t. You hit back just to prove you can. Because if you can hurt people, you’re not _nothing_. I’ve been there. But _you_ were the one who found me and proved to me I didn’t have to keep living like that.”

Shiro shakes his head. “It’s not the same. You haven’t—”

“Shiro, that’s kind of the _point_ ,” says Lance. “No, none of us have been through what you’ve been through. We have no idea. But it was bad and it was awful, and there’s _no way_ that the same rules apply when you are literally being tortured and fighting for your life.”

“That still doesn’t mean—”

“You keep giving me second chances!” bursts out Keith. “No matter how many times I screw up! So why you can’t get one, too?”

“Because you’re not a _killer_ ,” says Shiro. “You do wrong things sometimes, that happens, but that’s not same as _being—_ ”

“Being _what?_ ” Voices explode from all directions. Shiro’s slowly crumbling, and he doesn’t have the strength to hide anymore.

“Broken. Selfish. A monster.”

“Shiro, you’re not _any_ of those things,” says Hunk softly. “You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

“You’re a hero!” says Lance. “You’re who I want to be when I grow up!”

“Me too,” says Keith, almost too soft to be heard.

Shiro’s curled around his knees, nearly rocking as he shakes his head. “No. I’m not. You don’t know that.”

“Why won’t you believe us, Shiro?” Pidge hasn’t spoken up in a while, but now she scoots in front of Shiro so that their toes are nearly touching. Shiro only needs to lift his head a fraction to see her wide amber eyes.

Pidge shakes her bangs out of her face, frowning at Shiro like he’s a machine she hasn’t figured out yet.

“I get that there’s stuff that happened to you that we don’t know or understand,” she continues. “And how you feel about that isn’t the same as what we feel about it. But why are you so convinced we’re wrong?”

“I’m not who you think I am,” says Shiro.

“ _Why?_ ” insists Pidge. “It’s not like we just met—we’ve been living with you for months. So even if you’re worried the Galra changed you, made you bad or whatever, we all met you after that anyway. This is the only version of you we’ve ever known.”

“…you don’t understand.”

“Then help us to,” says Lance.

Shiro digs his hands into his hair. “It’s not—I lied. I love you, but I lied because I wanted to be there for you and I didn’t want you to leave. I pretended to be something that I wasn’t, but she knows. She always knows.”

“That’s not—!”

“Wait, Keith!” Pidge puts a hand on Keith’s arm. She leans forward so her face is just inches from Shiro’s. “ _Who_ knows?”

Shiro barely lifts his head. “Haggar. She’s been in my head. She saw everything. That’s how she broke me.”

Silence follows that pronouncement. Shiro feels the full weight of it. He wonders if they’re finally seeing him. If they’re looking into his eyes and seeing Haggar’s taint on him, how wretched he actually is.

And then Lance starts laughing. Pidge and Keith glare at him while Hunk frowns disapprovingly. Lance brings up a hand to cover his mouth, but his shoulders are still shaking.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, voice choked. “Just—I’m trying to imagine anyone who’s not an _idiot_ looking at Shiro and saying, ‘Oh yeah, let’s take this guy who’s all stupid nobility and hyper-competence and make him fight for our evil, imperialistic empire. Oh, and let’s permanently attach this crazy superweapon to him that he can turn on at any literally moment. That’s totally not going to come back to bite us in the ass.’”

Pidge actually snickers.

“I don’t get it,” says Keith.

“Oh, come on!” Lance throws his hands in the air. “It’s _Shiro_. He saw _you—_ ” Lance gestures at Keith. “—stealing his food, and instead of reacting like any normal person would, he automatically adopted you. He basically did the same thing for _all_ of us. Shiro sees anyone looking remotely unhappy, and he’s there trying to fix it. And if he sees people being unkind to someone else— _Oh_ boy. Hands will be flying. Or, more likely, very strong words and life-changing disappointment. Like, what kind of person looks at that and goes, ‘Yep, this is absolutely a guy who will be loyal to the Galra empire. No need to worry about him.’”

Pidge snorts. “They’re lucky all Shiro did was escape.”

Lance flashes a grin. “See? Pidge gets it.”

Shiro looks between the two of them, feeling…lost. “That’s not—” He struggles to find words for the truth pounding against his ribs. “She knows. She broke me.”

“She wants you to _think_ she knows,” says Lance, tapping his nose wisely. “Because otherwise you wouldn’t listen to her at all.”

“I’m with Lance,” says Hunk. “Pidge is right: we’ve only known you since your escape. If they’d turned you into an awful person, we would have seen that by now. And there’s no way if Haggar actually knew you that well she’d think she could make you into a weapon or whatever it was she was planning with you. That’s not you.”

“ _You’re missing the point!_ ” Shiro barely manages to keep his voice from screeching. “I already did it! I was their weapon. I killed for them, there’s so many—I—”

“Shiro.” Pidge’s voice is an odd combination of soft and determined. “Do you ever think the reason it was so awful for you and Haggar had to pick you apart so much was because you’d never do any of that otherwise? Did it ever occur to you that maybe it took _that much_ to try to break you?”

“And they didn’t even really succeed because you escaped the first chance you got,” adds Lance. “Once you were out, you refused to have anything to do with them.”

“They took me back—”

“And they were wrong about that, too,” snaps Keith. “They thought if they took you away, we wouldn’t care enough to come after you. But we do. We will _always_ come for you.”

That hits Shiro somewhere low, like a brick to the gut. Hunk’s arm snakes around his shoulders, tugging him against him, and Shiro goes though he keeps his arms around his knees and his head down.

“We’re not saying it wasn’t awful,” says Hunk. “Or you didn’t do things that you never would have done in any other circumstance. Or that feeling horrified or scared or whatever it is you want to feel about that is wrong. But we know you. And we love you and want good things for you. So maybe, you could try trusting us? A little more than Haggar who obviously only wanted to hurt you?”

Shiro’s voice comes out small and pitiful. “I do trust you guys.”

“Enough to believe us when we say that Haggar was dead wrong?” says Lance.

Shiro winces. He…he would _like_ to. But it all feels so wrong, and the memory of Haggar rooting around in his head is so vivid and fresh. Even with what he can’t remember, he knows the feeling of doing what she wanted. Because she broke him, because he gave in, because he just didn’t want to _hurt_ anymore.

“I guess we don’t really know what happened,” concedes Pidge. “But it seems pretty clear Haggar used your own mind against you to make you believe you were who she wanted you to be. Which is horrible and invasive by the way, but even if what she pulled up was true, that doesn’t mean it’s _all_ of you. You’re more than some cherry-picked memories, and honestly, there’s some pretty big pieces of you that Haggar seems to have missed.”

“Like that you have a _soul_?” says Lance.

“Well, that,” says Pidge. “But I actually meant like does Haggar know that, under all that muscle, Shiro is basically just a huge nerd?”

Keith snorts. “Or that he has _terrible_ sense of humor? Like, it’s not even corny, it’s just the _worst_.”

“Oh, are we sharing our favorite things about Shiro?” says Hunk. “Because I like that stuff, too. But I think my favorite thing is the way he really listens. He always makes me feel heard no matter how silly it is.”

“Yeah, I like that too,” says Lance, smile audible in his voice. After a moment, he adds, “ _My_ favorite thing about Shiro is that even though he tries to be all responsible, he still plays and has fun with us.”

Shiro swallows against a sudden lump in his throat. His eyes squeeze shut, trying to stem the emotion welling inside of him.

“I—” Keith’s voice is quiet and hesitant. The others pause to let him gather his thoughts. “Um. I like that Shiro doesn’t get upset about mistakes. Even the big ones. He won’t—he doesn’t blow up or kick you out or anything. He lets you try again.”

“I like that Shiro believes in us,” agrees Pidge. “No matter what we do, he still sees the best in us. He never gives up.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” says Keith, voice thick with emotion. Shiro’s finding it increasingly difficult to breathe, breath rattling in his chest.

“I always feel better when I’m around Shiro,” says Lance. “Like bigger? Sort of? He just makes me feel okay being _me_.”

Shiro’s next breath comes more as a gasp. His lips are trembling, and he presses his face into Hunk’s shoulder. Hunk squeezes him close, running his fingers over Shiro’s hair, but when he speaks, it’s calmly to the others like he doesn’t notice Shiro falling apart on top of him.

“Shiro makes me feel safe. And loved. Safe because I’m loved that much.”

“Loved is a good word for it,” says Pidge.

Shiro breaks with a sob. It’s ugly and wretched. It’s _loud,_ but once he’s started, he can’t stop. The tears pool and spill over, soaking Hunk’s shirt. Each sob feels pulled violently from his chest. But the others keep talking, voices calm and soothing. Telling stories, talking about _him_.

“Did you know Shiro keeps track of the treats each of us like? He has a secret stash that he pulls out when one of us has a bad day.”

“Shiro carries Pidge to bed every night. Because she wouldn’t sleep in a bed otherwise. But he’ll stay up watching the stars with me when I can’t sleep.”

“Do you guys remember the time that pink alien pinched Shiro’s butt?”

Voices wash over him, not always comprehensible but the tone fond. There are hands on him too, rubbing his back, holding his shoulders, brushing over his hair, his arms, his knees. Touches light but warm and _there_. They press close to him, not to crowd him or confine him, just wanting to be near him because they love him.

They _love_ him.

They came after him, found him and _saved_ him, when Shiro was so completely lost to himself. And they’re still here, loving and soothing him while his whole body shakes with sobs, the weight of everything he’s been through finally breaking him down.

Somewhere along the line, Shiro came to believe that those he cared about always mattered more to him than he did to them, and he had learned to be okay with that. He never resented it because that wasn’t fair, just learned to appreciate the affection while it lasted, never expecting anything beyond that. But this time—

This time, that didn’t happen.

This time, they missed him when he was gone. And demanded him back.

This time, Shiro thought he had understood that they cared for, even loved him, but he hadn’t remotely comprehended how _much_. They have taken everything that he gave them and are returning it four-fold and with interest. They aren’t leaving.

They love him just as much as he loves them. And for the very first time, Shiro believes it.

Night has truly fallen by the time Shiro gets ahold of himself. The stars glow brilliantly in the sky, but for once Shiro is less drawn to them than the people he’s surrounded by. He’s collapsed against Hunk who has been supporting him for the better part of an hour. Keith is tucked up against his other side, Pidge tangled with his feet. Lance is holding both his hands. Shiro gently untangles himself enough to sit up, though he ends up with Keith’s arms around his waist and himself holding Keith close. He feels like he needs to be touching at least one of them at all times. There are tear tracks drying on his face, and he scrubs at them with his natural hand, unable to hide it. He’s embarrassed and exhausted and can feel a headache coming on. If crying is supposed to make you feel better, it certainly didn’t work that way for Shiro. But he does feel a sense of release, the screaming storm inside no longer that, so maybe that’s enough.

“Sorry,” says Shiro at last, still scrubbing at his eyes. There’s no way to pretend he didn’t just have a break down, but he isn’t sure how to handle the fallout. “I—Sorry you had to see that.”

“Shiro,” says Lance, his whole face emoting empathy. “We _wanted_ to be here.”

“It’s so much better than you having to go through this alone,” agrees Hunk.

Shiro wouldn’t have gone through this if he were alone. Or, at least, it would have been a very different kind of break down.

“I—” His voice is rough, but mostly because he’s lost all his walls and any idea of how he’s supposed to perform here. “I know you all need someone…someone stable. Who you can rely on. And I tried to be that for you. I _want_ to be that person for you. But I’m—” Shiro’s voice breaks. “I’m not. I don’t know if I can pull that together again.”

Hunk makes an achingly sympathetic hum, and Keith growls against his ribs which probably means about the same thing.

“Um,” says Lance. “We already know? We weren’t expecting you to?”

“But—”

“ _Shiro_ ,” Pidge interrupts him. She nudges him gently with her toes. “I know we joke about you being the dad, but you know you’re not, right? You’re our brother and our _friend_. We want to be there for you as much as you are for us.”

Shiro blinks slowly at her. He feels like…like this is something that they’ve probably been telling him repeatedly actually, but for the first time, he gets an inkling of what they mean.

He meets Pidge’s eyes, feeling almost shy. “You’re not disappointed?”

Pidge shakes her head, bangs catching on her glasses. “No, Shiro,” she says. “Why would we be disappointed?”

“It feels kind of good, actually,” says Hunk. “You do so much for us. It’s nice to have you trust us enough to let us give back.”

Shiro bites the inside of his lip because he hadn’t—he’d thought he trusted them, but he hadn’t actually, not in the ways that mattered, and he’s only now realizing that. He’d thought they would only stay around as long as he was better, perfect, as long as he was the one always giving the most.

It’s only now that he realizes that expectation might have been incredibly unfair.

Trusting them means letting them see him at his most imperfect and letting them decide for themselves whether to stay or go. It’s _terrifying_ but—

He let them. They’ve seen. And they’re not going anywhere.

Shiro’s going to have to just keep trusting they’re not going to leave. It might feel like a risk, but really…when have these kids ever _not_ blown his expectations out of the water? Should he really be that surprised that they surpassed him here, too?

Shiro exhales with a breath that’s almost a laugh. The realization isn’t enough to ease all the guilt or heal the broken parts, but at least he feels like more than just that. And he has people who love him, broken parts and all.

“All right,” he says, trying to move but significantly hampered by Keith still wrapped around his waist. “Obviously I’m not in a position to talk safety right now, but I draw the line at sleeping on the roof.”

Lance’s eyes light up. “Sleep over?” he says hopefully.

Shiro hesitates, cold in his stomach. “I… I don’t think there’s going to be much sleeping for me to be honest.”

“Then I won’t either,” growls Keith, squeezing Shiro hard. “I’m not leaving.”

Hunk frowns at Keith, then turns to Shiro. He fiddles with his hands, the first nervous mannerism Shiro has seem from him since he bowled over Sendak—was that _really_ just hours ago?

“It’s for us, too,” says Hunk. “It was really scary, you know. You were just _gone,_ and we didn’t know how to find you.”

Shiro swallows. He is both stunned and deeply humbled. “Okay,” he says because they’ve finally worn him down and if he’s honest with himself, Shiro can’t stand the idea of letting them go just yet. It’s just astounding to realize they also want that comfort from _him_. “But yell or throw something if I’m dreaming. I don’t—I’m not—I _can’t_ hurt you.”

His voice comes out tight and pitched at the end, and Pidge puts her hand on his knee.

“Okay,” she says. “Those terms are acceptable.”

“PILLOW FORT!” yells Lance, bouncing on his feet. “C’mon, let’s get it set up!”

“Off the roof first, enthusiastic dancing later,” Shiro tells him out of sheer habit, watching Lance wobble far too close to the edge.

And Lance _beams_. “See? Told you our Shiro was still there.”

If Shiro weren’t also feeling a rush of relief at seeing their Lance—the boisterous, goodhearted-yet-impulsive Lance—shining through, he might not have understood what he was talking about.

Keith perks up under Shiro’s shoulder. “Oh. Should I—?”

“ _No_ ,” says Shiro before Keith can finish that sentence because Keith is _definitely_ thinking of doing something reckless and stupid in the name of helping and Shiro does not need that heart attack tonight.

Pidge snorts. “We should have known fussing would make Shiro feel better. Why didn’t we start with that?”

“Yeah, no. I don’t like where this is going,” says Shiro, still _far_ too shaky to deal with their usual antics. He gingerly maneuvers onto his feet. “Let’s get inside and just… _rest_.”

There’s some mumbling (“Yeah. Shiro. _Resting,_ ” snorts Lance), but the way they still listen to him makes Shiro feel more like himself than he has since Haggar first showed up, and it gives him a flicker of hope. Like maybe it’s possible for him to _come home_ for once in his life and still fit where he remembers.

The five of them make their way carefully off the roof, and on unspoken agreement pile into Shiro’s room. Lance and Pidge collect pillows and blankets from every corner of the Lion House, Keith arranges them across the floor, and Hunk disappears for a few minutes before returning with five steaming cups of almost-chocolate. Not _quite_ hot chocolate, the flavor is a little off, but it’s warm and creamy, familiar enough to be soothing. Pidge pulls out her laptop, and they pile together in a tangle of limbs to watch one of the movies she’d downloaded before leaving Earth. And then another. And another. Until finally, each of them drifts off.

Shiro’s prediction proves correct: it’s not an easy night’s sleep for him. It seems he barely closes his eyes before he’s back in the dark Galra halls or the arena or Haggar’s lab and he’s _trapped_ and he has to _get out—_ But he never gets much further than that because there are voices, gentle hands touching him, comforting him, saying, “You’re not there anymore. It’s not real, Shiro. Just a dream,” and he rolls over, never quite awake but somehow believing, just for a moment, that he’s _safe._ The cycle repeats more times than he can count because he _falls back asleep_ , and if he were capable of coherent thought, he would realize what an incredible feat that was. Instead, he keeps sleeping and dreaming but never quite tipping over into terror. Not the most restful night. But not actively making it _worse._

Which, quite frankly, is enough of a miracle.

And when Shiro wakes up—really wakes up this time—he just _wakes_ , no horrible jolt from a nightmare. It’s early still, faint light barely making it through the windows, and everyone else is still asleep. Shiro sits up, stifling a groan at the heaviness of his body. He made it into his bed some point in the night, and Keith is curled up at his feet like a cat. Faint snoring comes from the floor, and Shiro spots Hunk lying on his back in a nest of pillows. Lance is spread like a starfish over Hunk’s chest, three pillows, Pidge’s laptop and somehow has a foot hooked over Shiro’s overturned laundry hamper. Pidge herself is wrapped in a mound of blankets, her wild hair peeking out the top where she’s pillowed her face on Hunk’s stomach. Shiro looks over them all, warmth filling him. They’re _here,_ and they’re _okay._ Shiro vaguely remembers something from last night about realizing that his worldview was maybe a little off, but…

None of that can change the fact that at his very core all Shiro wants is for these kids to be happy and safe. And they _are_. With _him._ Shiro thinks he can deal with anything else if that’s true. He has no problem living for them. They’re precious.

_—They are_ —

Shiro jolts at the impression that bubbles up in his mind, warmth agreeing with him. It takes a moment for him to recognize the Lion House, but the Lion House feels even less like the house than usual and more like a _presence_. It swirls around them before settling into something almost solid against his chest. For a moment, Shiro swears he gets the impression of weight and _fur._

The Lion House…presence? spirit? touches Lance, Pidge, Hunk, and Keith in turn, brushing them over with warmth and affection. — _Precious—_ And then it takes all that feeling and reflects it bright and intense entirely onto Shiro.

— ** _Precious_** —

“Oh,” says Shiro. The presence is wrapped tightly around him, like a warm, muscular blanket, and pulsing with love.

But then why…? When he came back, the Lion House had been _silent_. And he’d felt so broken, scared of being rejected, feeling like a failure for what he’d allowed to happen. And the Lion House hadn’t _said_ anything.

The Lion House stirs now, bringing up those same emotions. _Failed to protect. No longer safe. Not worthy. Other too small to be hurt again. So sorry._

It takes a moment, but then Shiro gasps. Oh.

— _So sorry—_

_Oh_. Shiro hadn’t realized it before because he was too caught up in his own pain and because it wasn’t what he had expected, but the Lion House hadn’t shut him out. He just hadn’t recognized it because what it was saying had been so close to what he himself was feeling, and he hadn’t been able to tell the difference. It’s baffling even now, but he can’t deny it because he can _feel_ it.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers, conscientious of the others still sleeping. “I understand. I don’t blame you.”

He gets a rush his own feelings reflected back at him— _No blame. Only love—_ as the Lion House squeezes tightly around him. Then it lets go, dissipating into the walls and floorboards again, but still there, a soft, pleasant hum.

Shiro swallows. That was possibly the best homecoming he’s ever received. He doesn’t quite know what to do in the face of it. But it does give him the strength to get moving. He stretches and climbs out of bed, careful not to tread on Hunk. His eyes fall on Keith who is really balanced quite precariously on the edge of the bed.

Shiro touches his shoulder, intending to roll him to a position where he’s less likely to fall off.

“Hnnng.” One of Keith’s eyes cracks open. “Oh. Shiro.” And then he closes his eyes again and goes limp, like that’s all he needs to feel safe.

Shiro’s chest is brimming with warmth. He gently takes Keith around the waist and heaves him into the center of the bed where Keith immediately curls into a ball in the warm spot Shiro left behind and falls back asleep. Shiro tucks the covers up around him, looks over the others, decides it’s best to let them keep sleeping, and leaves to start the day.

Shiro makes his way to the kitchen, and that’s where he meets his first surprise.

Because there’s someone already there.

Allura, the alien from the ship, has her back to him, standing at the sink and tugging on the handles, muttering words that Shiro suspects aren’t exactly for polite company on Altea.

“You have to turn the lever under the sink.”

Allura startles and spins around.

“I apologize for intruding,” she says quickly. “I was only hoping for a drink of water. There are supplies on the ship, of course, but water gets stale—”

“I understand completely,” says Shiro. He bends down to open the cupboard beneath the sink. “The water pressure to the laundry got messed up, so we had to kludge together a workaround. Unfortunately, now you can only either use the washer or the sink.” He turns the lever which is actually a wooden spoon duct taped to the remains of the original lever which had broken off. “There. It should work now.”

He turns on the faucet just to makes sure and steps back to let Allura fill her cup. He intends to give her space while he scrounges up breakfast, but he notices her watching him. He’d had the impression she was expecting something from him before, but he had also not been in the best headspace. He figured he had imagined or misinterpreted it. But now his head is clearer, and the impression hasn’t gone away.

“Um, is there something else you needed?”

Allura’s cheeks go pink, awash in the light of her cheek marks which are subtly glowing. Going by the rest of her expression and body language, Shiro suspects this is the Altean equivalent of a massive blush.

“No, no,” she says hurriedly. “I—That is—But I understand entirely. It’s not my place, of course.”

Allura might understand, but Shiro certainly doesn’t. He studies Allura’s uncertain expression, an odd look on her because she normally carries herself with so much confidence.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “But I can’t help feeling…am I missing something?”

The answer clearly is yes. But Allura quickly smooths her expression and looks down at the glass in her hands. “No,” she says. But then she continues, “I suppose it’s not surprising that you don’t remember.”

Oh. So they _had_ met before. Shiro had been starting to suspect it though he can’t for the life of him think of how or when that would be.

“My memory—it isn’t too great in some places,” Shiro admits with a wince. “I thought it was mostly my time with the Galra that I’d forgotten, but other things could have been affected, too.”

“Oh! OH.” Allura shakes her head. “I didn’t think of that, but of course. If you don’t remember your time as a prisoner… of course.”

Shiro suddenly feels very cold.

Allura hadn’t met Shiro. She’d met _Champion._

Whatever peace he’d found last night rushes out. “I’m so sorry,” he spits out.

No wonder she’d seemed so uncertain around him. Frankly, it’s astounding she helped him at all. He can’t imagine why she _did._

“I—Whatever I did or said to you, please, I know it doesn’t make it better, but I am so sorry. I _swear_ to you—”

Allura shakes her head, her eyes wide. “No, no. There’s nothing to _apologize_ for. Why would you think that?”

Shiro snorts, short and bitter. “What other possibility is there?” he says. “Champion was a monster who—”

There’s a loud clatter.

“Champion is _NOT_ a monster.”

Shiro freezes. Allura freezes. Allura looks like she’s two seconds from decking him. In any other circumstances, Shiro would take in the blazing certainty in her eyes and defer to her experience. But not on this _._

“I might not remember everything from the prisons,” he says, fighting to keep his voice even. “But trust me, I remember enough.”

“ _Clearly_ you don’t,” Allura fires back.

She wraps her arms around herself, jaw working. She seems angry at him, but not for the right reasons and Shiro can’t understand.

“I know what I did in order to survive,” he settles for. “I think monster is an adequate term.”

Allura just keeps _staring_ at him like what he’s saying fundamentally doesn’t make sense.

“You really don’t remember, do you?”

Shiro shrugs. _She_ obviously thinks he’s missing something, but he’s always had recollections in bits and pieces, and the recent flood of awful memories hasn’t done anything to dissuade his impressions. Surely that’s enough.

Allura runs her fingers over a lock of her hair. “I suppose—it makes sense. You _did_ say. I just never—I never imagined having to tell you.” She looks down and bites her lip.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want,” says Shiro a little too quickly. He’s not entirely sure he wants to hear it. She keeps saying there’s nothing to apologize for, but there’s deep sadness and pain in the way she holds herself. Given the circumstances, Shiro can’t imagine how it’s _not_ because of him.

“No,” says Allura carefully. “If you don’t remember, you should know.”

She gathers all her hair together, twisting it over one shoulder and exposing one side of her neck. She tugs down the collar of her suit, and at first, Shiro doesn’t know what she’s doing. But then Allura turns so her side is better facing him, and the long, raised lines, which start below her collar and reach into her hairline, start to make sense.

“I was there, too,” Allura says. “In the prisons.”

The scars look like claw marks and, unless Altean anatomy is significantly different from a human’s, barely short of a killing blow.

Shiro’s voice cracks. “You were a gladiator, too?”

Allura nods. Shiro grips the counter, not sure how he’s meant to feel besides _shocked_. Should he be scared of her? Relieved? Ready to run?

Allura drops her hair back down her back. She seems to take Shiro’s silence as a sign to continue.

"When the Galra attacked Altea,” she begins, “my father sent me away in the hopes I would escape the destruction of our planet. My ship was intercepted, however. Rather than kill me on sight, Zarkon chose to keep me prisoner, proof of his triumph over my people, and forced me to fight in the gladiator arenas.” Her nostrils flare. “With the stage name _‘Princess_ ’ no less.”

Shiro winces. He’s no stranger to the dehumanizing games the Galra would play, but it doesn’t make it easier.

Allura plunges on. “I was angry at first. I think I won my first fights on rage alone. But I was also in shock and grieving, and the more it sunk in that I was the last of my people, the more I lost grip on my will to live. It was humiliating, the way I was treated, and I came very close to becoming hopeless.”

“I’m sorry,” says Shiro because he has nothing more to offer.

“I know,” says Allura. She seems alarmingly certain. “You were also there.”

Shiro flinches. “Whatever happened—”

“—is what I’m about to _tell you_ ,” Allura interrupts. “And _don’t—_ ” she adds, looking directly into Shiro’s eyes. “ _Don’t_ say what you’re about to say. You don’t get to disparage Champion. Not in front of me.”

Shiro opens his mouth, takes a look at Allura’s fierce expression, and thinks better of it.

“You may not realize this, but Champion was a figure of _hope_ in the prisons,” says Allura. “He was the only one of us who ever got the better of the Galra. He forced them to choose him instead of another prisoner his first match, he fought back in ways no one else could, and he _won_. Every. Single. Fight.”

Shiro wrinkles his nose, conscious of the way it warps the scar there. “That’s not something to be proud of.”

“You were the only non-Galra who did,” says Allura. “It drove the game masters nuts. They wanted to get rid of you, but they couldn’t because you were too popular.”

Shiro has vague recollections of what he did to make himself popular. The feeling makes him want to be sick.

“Do you have any idea what that meant? To see one of us _winning_ and exercising any sort of power in that place? I do not know if it was the Galra who named you or the other prisoners, but _we_ called you ‘Champion’ because we considered you one of us. Your victories were ours as well.”

That doesn’t make any sense because his victories were _against the other prisoners_. When he won, he _killed them._ What sort of Champion was in that? And Shiro knows—he _knows_ the other prisoners were terrified of him. He explicitly remembers making plans to ensure that.

Allura hugs herself, lip caught between her teeth. “I’m not telling this right,” she says. “It was after my…maybe third fight? Certain Alteans can heal with quintessence, but it takes a great deal of energy and I was grievously injured. But the Galra knew of my abilities. They threw me back in with the other prisoners with the expectation that I should heal myself.”

Shiro sucks in a sharp breath. In the prisons, looking injured could be as good as a death sentence. And from the sound of it…

“Yes,” says Allura as if she can read his mind. “Bad enough that I could hardly stand. I was thoroughly beaten, mentally and emotionally. I should have been on my guard, but when some of the other prisoners started circling around me…I simply couldn’t care.”

Allura’s shoulders slump, and Shiro has half a mind to reach out to her but he doesn’t think she’d appreciate that from him right now.

“I really think I might have died that day if it hadn’t been for you.”

“Me?” repeats Shiro dumbfounded.

“Yes,” says Allura. It takes a minute for Shiro to notice the hunch of her shoulders is _shy_. “You stood up to the other prisoners and told them to leave me alone. I suppose you do have a point about Champion’s reputation. I doubt they would have backed down for anyone else. But you helped me to a corner where I wouldn’t have to watch my back, made sure I received and ate my rations, and…and you were there.” Allura’s eyes grow bright with tears, but they do not fall. “I can never repay you for that.”

Shiro finds his mouth is open but no words come out, so he closes it again. He’s feeling so many things, but he sees the hurt in Allura’s eyes and he knows he has to be careful about this. He doesn’t want to hurt her more than she has been already, but…

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“You were _kind._ ” Allura swipes at her eyes, and Shiro tactfully pretends not to notice. “In a place where kindness was nonexistent. You spent all night with me, and you let me tell you about Altea and every awful thing that had happened and listened when I felt so alone. And I—I feel so foolish now because of course everyone in that prison knew the same kind of pain, _you_ knew the same pain, but at the time, all I could think of was my own.”

“That’s completely reasonable,” says Shiro. “You had too much to deal with already. There was no reason for you take on worry about anyone else. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

Allura smiles at him with watery eyes. “And you were not dealing with all the same things?”

“I—”

Shiro breaks off because Allura _touches his arm_. Her fingers are light and barely there, but Shiro wasn’t expecting to be touched, let alone kindly, and that combined with the way she’s looking directly into his eyes is shorting something in his brain.

" _Takashi Shirogane_ ,” and Shiro hasn’t heard his full name in over a year, and he didn’t realize he had missed it. Allura lightly, barely squeezes his arm. “You saved my life.”

The conviction in Allura’s face and in her voice completely bowl him over. “What? _How?_ ”

“You saw me when I was hopeless and ready to give up and treated me with kindness, the first—the _only_ person to do so while I was there. Because of you, I was able to find the courage to survive.”

That seems impossible. Shiro is struggling to understand. For some reason, Allura smiles.

“My point is, _that_ is the Champion I remember. The one who was kind when no one else would bother. The one who saw me at my weakest point and gave me the strength to continue. That was who I was willing to go back to the Galra for.”

She says it all very kindly, almost without flair, but the implications are mind boggling. Allura already has his respect simply for helping his kids (and, by extension, him) and every minute he spends talking with her only builds that. He feels he _should_ trust her, but what she says is so beyond what he can imagine. He _tries_ to remember her, remember the story that she is telling, but his memory comes up blank. And all he _does_ remember doesn’t track.

“I’m grateful I was able to help you,” says Shiro, trying to keep the doubt of his voice. It’s not Allura he doubts but _himself_. “But I think you might have an exaggerated opinion of me. You have to understand, most the time I wasn’t like that.”

Allura sighs but sets her shoulders. “You said you don’t remember most of what happened?”

“Yes,” says Shiro. “But that doesn’t mean—”

"I do,” Allura interrupts him. “I remember. Every day.”

There’s grief and horror in her face, the kind that might fade but never truly goes away, that leaves a person more marked than a scar ever could, and it hits Shiro that she was _there._ She doesn’t just know about the gladiator pits—she _lived_ it. She survived which means she fought. She killed. The truth of it is written across her haunted face.

“I was not a prisoner nearly as long as you were,” says Allura. “But I remember. If all you did was to look outside yourself _once_ in all your time there, it’s more than the rest of us managed.”

Shiro swallows, unable to meet Allura’s eyes any longer.

Allura reaches out for him again, this time her fingers curling around his metal wrist. “Please,” she says, her voice trembling with emotion. “ _Please_. I understand that the memories and the name must mean something very different to you. It was— _is_ unspeakable, the atrocities that go on there. I _understand_. But Champion offered me the single greatest act of kindness I have ever experienced when I had nothing else. So please don’t hate him completely. For me.”

Allura’s eyes are big and watery, and the thing is, Shiro _knows_. There were times Shiro would have given anything for a hint of kindness or even just a lack of antagonism, just a moment to lift the terrible burden from his shoulders.

He understands. But he also feels compelled to be honest.

“I’m not sure I can,” says Shiro, looking down at where her fingers circle his wrist. It’s as bright and clean as ever, that hand that has taken so many lives, normally burning and cauterizing its way through. “I did a lot of things I’m not proud of.”

“I did as well,” says Allura.

It’s the ache in her voice that makes Shiro finally look up. _Oh._ Shiro meets Allura’s eyes, and this time he catches the desperation and the loneliness there. The isolation that comes from going through something incomprehensible to anyone else and having to carry that entirely alone. Maybe it’s about gratitude, but maybe it’s about so much more.

Allura looks a little thrown off balance. “I-I know I’m not you, and I understand if I don’t mean anything particular to you—”

“Don’t say that, Allura.”

She blinks up at him. Shiro sees the same worries and fears that he faces every day reflected back at him, and for the first time, he realizes they could be unfounded. Real, certainly, but not guaranteed.

“You saved me, too,” he reminds her. “I wouldn’t have survived a second time, but you—you broke Haggar’s control on me. You got me out. _Thank you._ ”

For a moment, Allura says nothing. Then she launches herself forward, and Shiro’s got an armful of alien princess and do _all_ Alteans hug this tight? She’s shaking though, so Shiro just hugs her back and does his best to ignore the fact that he can’t breathe.

“I didn’t—I looked for you. I looked for you for so long, but I thought you were dead. Or the Galra did something _horrible—_ ”

Shiro can’t believe this. He can’t believe that someone could have known him when he was Champion and still want to touch him, still offer this kind of…affection? Loyalty?

But he can believe Allura survived the gladiator pits. That she needs someone as much as he does.

“I still don’t remember,” says Shiro, compelled to be honest. “What you described, I can’t remember it at all.”

Allura, if possible, hugs him even tighter and possibly breaks a few of his ribs. “That’s all right,” she says. “I’ll never forget.”

They break apart, awkwardly remembering that they’re two strangers who have spent barely more than a few hours in each other’s company. Shiro turns to shuffling the sporks on the counter while Allura collects herself. He sees her pick up her dropped cup, but she doesn’t fill it again.

“Can I ask you a question?” he says hesitantly. “If it’s not too invasive?”

“I think we’re a bit beyond that point,” she admits with the slightest smile. “But yes, you may ask.”

“How did you get out?”

Allura’s shoulders sag, and Shiro immediately wishes he could take the question back.

“Sorry, if you don’t—”

“A small group of Altean warriors were able to escape Altea’s destruction,” says Allura. “When they discovered I was alive in the gladiator ring, they launched an attack to rescue me.” Allura looks at her feet. “Only Coran survived.”

Oh.

“I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”

Allura swallows and nods. “I never wanted anyone to die for me,” she says. “Especially not my own people.”

Shiro considers the former princess in front of him. She’s hardly lost or helpless—very much the opposite, in fact. Shiro doubts she needs his protection or guidance in any capacity.

But then, it wasn’t protection he’d needed from his teens. It was everything else.

“Would you like to stay here?”

Allura looks appropriately shocked. “What?”

Shiro shrugs. “If you need a place to be. Would you like to stay here with us? I realize we’re not Altean, and we can’t make up for your loss. But everyone is rebuilding in some way or another here. It’s as good a place to start again as any.”

“But we just met,” says Allura. “You hardly know us.”

“You do know I basically picked the others up like strays and brought them home, right?” says Shiro. “You’re the first one who got us _out_ of trouble instead of just adding to the chaos. So yeah. You’re welcome to stay with us if you’d like.”

“I—” Allura looks like she wants to launch herself at him again but restrains herself. “ _Thank you._ ”

“It’s no problem,” assures Shiro. Slowly, he finds himself smiling. “It’ll be nice to have another adult around.”

“Are they really so young?” asks Allura, looking genuinely surprised. “They seem quite competent.”

Shiro’s smile slowly turns into a smirk. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

He’s proven right only minutes later when Lance bursts into the kitchen yelling, “ _SHIRO!_ WHERE—Oh, there you are.”

Then, in an even louder voice, “FOUND HIM! KEITH, YOU DON’T HAVE TO KILL ANYONE. PUT THAT STABBY THING AWAY!”

Hunk stumbles in next, relaxing when he sees Shiro. “Are you talking about Keith or Keith’s knife? Because either one qualifies.”

And from somewhere else in the House, Keith’s voice rings out, “I’M NOT STABBY!”

“Next person who yells can eat my tazer,” grouses Pidge, still wrapped up in her blankets as she smashes her face into Shiro’s side.

“Hey, Shiro!” says Lance. “Do you think you can use your hand to make toast?”

“Uh, I—Wait. _What happened to our toaster?_ ”

Allura laughs delicately into her hand.

In the end, Hunk bullies them into sitting down for a real breakfast (“Shiro just got back! He deserves real food.”), and Coran pops in from nowhere. They all cram around the kitchen table, Shiro pulling in the ottoman from the living room and Pidge sitting on an overturned laundry hamper. Keith has taken up residence squished into Shiro’s side and refuses to go anywhere else. All their elbows knock to together, making it nearly impossible to eat, and Coran is telling some tale about Altean cuisine that is either extremely disturbing or him pulling their leg while Allura tries too hard to be polite.

None of that can quite hide the jittery legs or red eyes. Or the way that, despite being all crammed together, they still don’t need to be touching Shiro _this_ much. Or talking and bickering quite _this_ loudly. The sun is just shining through the kitchen window, and Shiro is already dreading the next time he will have to sleep.

But.

But they’re all here. Safe and (relatively) happy.

But they found out his secrets, and they haven’t turned away from him yet.

But he isn’t waking up to a Galra cell anymore.

Shiro’s found his family. More accurately, they found _him._ Today, it’s more than enough.


	8. +1 Lion House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost didn't want to post this chapter because I didn't want the story to be done. It's been with me for probably about two years as I've been writing and postings it and, tbh, going through some pretty rough IRL stuff. But this is the right place for the story to end, and I'm happy with it. Thank you for every kudos, comment, and other form of love you've given this. The response has been amazing, and you have no idea what it means to me <3 <3
> 
> And, of course, a huge thanks to [ @braincoins](https://braincoins.tumblr.com) for the beta and catching all my ridiculous typos and every time I went overboard on proper nouns :D

Once again, Shiro and his kids find themselves integrating new members to their make-shift family. Among the first orders of business is to fix the porch and the massive hole in the wall of the Lion House. In the process, they also retrofit the sitting room into a fourth bedroom. For Shiro, this mostly comes down to not wanting to inflict Pidge’s disaster zone on Allura. Although as Lance loudly insists to anyone who will listen to him, “It’s the chandelier room. It _deserves_ a princess!”

Allura seems a little baffled by that reasoning, but she is wildly enthusiastic about redecorating. This proves to be especially helpful when they find out Allura can lift an entire couch over her head without breaking a sweat. It is _less_ helpful when Lance insists they test exactly how much she can lift.

“Can you bench press me? Can you bench press Hunk? Can you bench press Hunk and _Shiro_?”

(The answers to that are yes, yes, and “ _LANCE!_ ”)

Shiro tries to offer a room to Coran, too, but Coran insists he’s perfectly happy making his home in the loft of the barn. After the thirtieth idiom Shiro doesn’t understand, he lets Coran have it. 

While Shiro focuses on the House with Allura and Keith, the others take Coran out to the canyon to retrieve Shiro’s hover. It’s a little worse for wear, and Shiro can’t help the twist in his gut when he sees the scratches on the casing and hears what his jamming and Keith’s emergency landing did to the engine. It was necessary. He had to do whatever he could to get the others out of there, and he would blow the whole thing to pieces if that’s what he had to do to keep them safe.

But it still hurts. That hover was the first thing that feel like _home_ on TK 7526-38. And now that they’ve lost the Galra shuttle (Shiro has a lot of opinions about what they did during the twenty-four hours he was gone, but he keeps quiet out of awe that they did it for _him_ ), the hover was Shiro’s last connection to the sky. To flight. He feels like his wings just got clipped.

“We’ll fix it,” says Pidge, sliding up to where Shiro is looking at his hover with a lump in his throat. She leans against his elbow, flashing a toothy smile. “We can even make Lance and Keith buff out the scratches. Beef up their noodle arms.”

Shiro raises his eyebrows. “You aren’t exactly rippling biceps yourself.”

“Yeah, but I’m the nerd,” says Pidge, pointedly pushing up her glasses. “I have to keep up my image.”

Shiro snorts and gets another bright grin from Pidge.

“Actually, we have some ideas for how to make it run better,” says Hunk, joining them. His eyes are brimming with excitement in a way that has Shiro worried. “Coran is a genius, and apparently Allura’s ship has really advanced manufacturing abilities and can 3D print just about anything—”

Shiro sees the way Pidge’s eyes light up at the mention of “3D printing” and basically thinks, _oh no._

“—which means we won’t have to scavenge for parts! Which is really lucky because one of the gears got totally stripped, and I’m not sure how we’d find a replacement. But Coran and I just have to take some measurements, and then we’ll be able to print up a new part, no problem.”

“That’s really good news, Hunk,” says Shiro. “But what’s this about making it run _better_?”

And this is where Hunk’s grin becomes worrying again. “Well, I was talking to Coran, and there’s some ideas with limited range inertia dampers that I want to try. Because that really opens up some possibilities for shifting momentum, you know? We’d have to trade out a few parts because Altean systems run differently, but…”

“We could make it accelerate faster,” adds Pidge with a sly grin.

Shiro tries to hide the way his interest perks up at “faster.” Judging by the way Hunk and Pidge are silently laughing at him, he doesn’t succeed. He should probably try to fix that: knowing that Shiro is secretly intrigued will only encourage them. And not long ago, he would have jumped to do that, but… something’s changed since they all banded together to save him. And, to be honest, since he broke down in front of all them on the roof.

It’s not just Hunk and Pidge who are different; he sees shades of it in Lance and Keith as well. They’re all more cohesive, more functional. Responsible, even, despite their crazy ideas. They seem _aware_. Of themselves and of what’s going on around them in a way they weren’t before, and more proactive in picking up whatever needs to be done. Shiro keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. These are the independent, self-sufficient adults he saw in them. The ones who don’t need him.

And they _don’t_. Not really. But they’re here. They don’t need him to tell them what to do or where to go, but they listen to him anyway. They rely on him, coming to him with questions or concerns or to make decisions, and Shiro is so grateful they let him fuss over them and let him feel useful helping them. They just seem intent on using their energy to look out for _him_ as well. Sometimes it’s obvious, like when Keith demands to know if Shiro has slept in the last two days and then drags him outside to spar until Shiro’s exhausted enough to finally crash. Other times it’s subtle, like Lance and Hunk tag-teaming to distract him on his worst days or Pidge finding clever ways to circumvent his mental hang-ups. Shiro still has this voice in his head saying he’s the adult, he needs to be in control, _they can’t be responsible for him_.

“And we’re not,” Hunk tells him one day, helping Shiro paint the newly buffed out chassis of his hover. “You’re responsible for yourself and your own mental health. But that doesn’t mean we can’t help.”

What stuns Shiro is how much they _want_ to. He feels it has become abundantly clear that he needs them far more than they need him, but somehow they’ve decided that’s what they want to do. It’s baffling. And humbling. And confusing all over again because despite how much he feels like this _shouldn’t_ be right, he feels…better? Lighter? Equal in a way he hadn’t realized he wasn’t before.

It’s an adjustment that isn’t always comfortable or easy. But Shiro looks at the growing confidence in his teens, and…he’d promised himself he wouldn't hold them back, hadn’t he? If this is how they’re growing, who is he to stop them?

As soon as the hover is up and running again, Shiro takes Keith out for a test ride. With seven people in the House, the noise has reached epic levels, and Keith hasn’t snapped yet but Shiro figures it’s a good idea to give him a chance to escape before something blows.

Also, Shiro just really wants to try out the newly-refurbished hover.

Shiro’s instincts prove right when Keith, who starts out stiff and silent, leans back and starts to sway with the movement. Shiro lets him take the front, and they trade off testing out the new features Hunk and Pidge built into the hover with reckless delight. The sun is getting low in the sky by the time they take a break on top of a mesa, eating the snacks Shiro had packed for them. Keith has one of his knees pulled up against his chest, the other kicking casually against the rock, and a look of peace on his face that’s surprising and rare.

Shiro looks from Keith to the desert landscape and back again.

“Are you sure you want to stay here?”

It’s the first time Shiro’s actually _asked_ , instead of just assuming. He’s assumed for so long, with Keith especially. Maybe he shouldn’t, but he has to ask at least once. “Are you sure you don’t want to do something more?”

The look Keith gives him is fond but extremely exasperated. “Yeah,” he says like there’s nothing to it.

Shiro tries to accept that and finds he can’t. He fights to keep his voice steady as he says, “But _why_? Keith, you’re incredible. Your talent is like nothing I’ve ever seen. You could go far, even with the Galra empire expanding. You could do so much. Why _not_?”

Keith rolls his eyes.

“Because that’s what _you_ want, Shiro. Travel, break records, be the best and whatever it is you want with the stars. That’s all _you_. The rest of us are different.”

Shiro blinks. He knew—of course he knew they had different goals and wants, that makes sense, they’re their own people. He hadn’t realized he was projecting though. And to a certain degree, he’s still struggling. Who _doesn’t_ want that kind of freedom or—

“Then what _do_ you want?” he says, honestly baffled.

Maybe Keith isn’t the one he should be asking. Or maybe he’s exactly right. Maybe Keith is the only one he _can_ ask.

Keith rolls his shoulders. “Um, I don’t know?” He thinks for a bit and then says, “I mean, I think Pidge wants a family. Hunk said something about just wanting things to be stable. And Lance wants the attention of literally every single person within a fifty-mile radius.”

Keith rolls his eyes at the last one, and Shiro’s lips twitch in response.

He notices that there is one person missing, though.

“And what do you want, Keith?”

Keith hunches his shoulders. For a moment, it looks like he’s going to close himself off again, and Shiro can respect that. He knows Keith hates feeling vulnerable. But then Keith turns to face Shiro.

“I want to follow you.” He shrugs, and Shiro can see the bravery it takes him to keep meeting his eyes. Still, Keith does it. “Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be. I don’t care what that is. Because…you’ll let me. Won’t you?” Keith’s voice grows softer at the end.

Shiro grabs Keith around the shoulders and pulls him close. “Of course, buddy,” he says. “ _Always_.”

Shiro looks down at the brilliant, stubborn teen who’s downright melted against his side. Keith has so much talent and so much drive, it seems impossible that what he could be satisfied with just…Shiro.

(Or maybe not so impossible. After all, how much have his priorities shifted since meeting Keith and the rest of them? Maybe there’s a draw there that’s even greater than the stars.)

Shiro ruffles Keith hair in the way that makes Keith pout like a disgruntled cat. “Sure you won’t get bored?” he asks, pretending like he’s joking.

“With you around?” Keith snorts. “Hardly.”

Shiro rocks him. “Hey, now. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It _means_ ,” says Keith with a brimming smirk, “that _I’m_ not the one who thought adopting four troubled teenagers was a good idea.”

“You guys needed someone,” says Shiro. He frowns. “And you weren’t troubled.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Out of all of us, only Hunk wasn’t homeless and caught up in something illegal when you found us.”

“You were _good kids._ ”

“AND you decided to teach all of us how to beat the crap out of anyone who challenges us, fly Galra spaceships, and get past most known security.”

“I—Those are important life skills!”

Keith laughs. “Face it, Shiro. You’re just as bad as the rest of us. You’re just better at hiding it.”

Shiro starts to protest, only to find that he can’t. He can’t protest anything Keith’s said. Instead, he squeezes Keith tight. “Since when did you get so wise?”

“Since I started listening to Hunk,” says Keith, innocent and completely honest.

Shiro bursts out laughing.

With Shiro’s kids taking on new roles and the addition of Allura and Coran to their no-longer-little family, there’s plenty of adjustments to be made. At first, Allura oscillated between being a friend and another authority figure as she tried to find her place in the House. This irritated Keith who, to be fair, is a walking PSA on authority issues, and Pidge frankly isn’t much better. But even Lance and Hunk had their moments. 

“They’re just not used to listening to anyone,” Shiro apologizes one evening early on.

“Anyone who’s not _you_ ,” Allura corrects with a smile, and Shiro wonders what he did to give her the impression that they listen to _him_ either.

But Allura, to her credit, takes feedback (even grouchy, immature teenaged feedback) remarkably well and adjusts for them. Shiro’s respect for her, which started out quite high already, is blooming into outright awe. If he had any preconceived notion of princesses being pampered, that is quickly thrown out the window. Allura is perfectly willing and eager to help with whatever needs to be done, and she never complains when things like the water heater break or when Pidge and Hunk’s experiments start belching smoke. She _does_ perhaps have a taste for quality things, whether it be clothing or technology, but she can make do with less and Shiro has seen her slug through knee-deep mud in the Scult to get a part for the sound system that Lance wanted. And this because Shiro himself told Lance he wasn’t going to do it.

Meanwhile, Coran has cheerfully allowed himself to be conscripted by Hunk and Pidge, who are eager to take advantage of his technical knowhow, and strikes up an easy rapport with Lance bonding over wacky stories and absurd humor. Keith is still warming up to him, but there’s no overt antagonism so Shiro counts that as a win. And when Coran isn’t helping Hunk and Pidge or chatting with Lance, he hums around the House, picking up all the tasks that had technically been on Shiro’s to-do list but long since been shelved in favor of more pressing concerns. When Shiro tries to suggest he needn’t do as much, Coran promptly bops him on the nose with a feather duster. “No, no, young man! I like keeping busy,” he says. “And besides, it’s nice to help you kids. You won’t be telling ME what to do!”

And then Allura finds her _true_ calling.

The seven of them are at the saloon, nominally discussing a plan with Luxia for installing a _murduk-_ proof fence, but at some point Coran had gotten involved and now he and Luxia are reminiscing about some planetary festival the rest of them have never heard of. Lance slunk off ten minutes ago and is now attempting to chat up a remarkably patient Plaxum. Meanwhile, Hunk and Pidge pulled Keith into their secret huddle, voices low and conspiring. Shiro has just about decided they’ve gone unchecked long enough when there’s a disturbance at the door.

“What! I don’t _owe_ you taxes! There’s no such thing!” Pruig is stumbling backwards into the saloon, four arms waving in the air. Meanwhile, Throk advances on him with a heavy-duty blaster swinging from his shoulders and Lubos trailing petulantly behind him.

“I think you’ll find there _is_ such a thing,” growls Throk, walking Pruig up against a wall. “Unless you want to find your precious _zaltre_ field turned to ash.”

Shiro winces. Throk and Lubos have always been bullies, but Throk has seemed angrier and more aggressive since Shiro arrived back at TK7526-38, and it doesn’t take much imagination to think of why. Shiro is trying to decide if getting involved will make things better or worse when Allura’s hand clamps down on his shoulder.

“Who are _they?”_ she demands angrily.

Shiro sighs. “Lubos and Throk. They’re cowards and bullies, but they’re the closest this planet has to a government.”

“Government,” repeats Allura flatly. Her nose wrinkles with disapproval. “ _That_ is not leadership.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like this place has a system of redress. Lubos has money and Throk appointed himself sheriff, so…”

“I see."

Allura’s expression is cold. She shoves her glass of bytor water into Shiro’s hands as she gets up.

“Hold my drink,” she orders, and then she marches off. 

Ten minutes later, Lubos and Throk have been thrown out of the saloon, Pruig is stammering gratitude, and Allura is the newly-minted town sheriff.

“I was raised to rule a planet,” she tells Shiro as she takes back her bytor water, her head held high and ignoring the whispers around them because yeah, she _did that_.

“Perhaps not _this_ one,” she adds, eying where Nyma and Rolo are hawking clearly stolen goods and Pidge is not-so-subtly trying to get a look. “But I believe the concept is similar enough. Besides, this planet needs it,” she adds with a delicate nose wrinkle.

Shiro personally has felt too busy trying to raise four too-smart teenagers to attempt to reform a planet, but in the coming weeks, he takes great delight in watching Allura strong-arm this collection of outlaws, recluses, and criminals into a functional society.

Besides, Shiro just _likes_ Allura. She’s genuine and intelligent, stubborn as hell when she’s set her mind to something and yet willing to adapt to new information. She has backbone and work ethic and wit, and whether Shiro is wrangling his kids or wresting giant lizards, she always seems to be right there with him, a helping hand before he even knows he needs it. They work well together, and Shiro can’t remember the last time he fit next to someone so easily.

And being around Allura _is_ easy _._ In a way that Shiro didn’t realize he could be with someone else. Keith, Pidge, Lance, and Hunk each mean the world to him. They have proven that they want him around, that they love him and don’t see him as a burden or weak for needing their help. They saved him in a way he doesn’t think he’ll ever manage to completely articulate _._ But they’re still kids. Shiro is aware of his responsibility to them in a way he can’t entirely shake.

But with Allura, he doesn’t have that. She _knows._ She’s been through that hell herself and come out the other side. She’s easily the bravest person he’s ever met. And the strongest. If his rough edges start to show… she has some of her own. It won’t break her.

It’s kind of astounding, actually.

And then one night, it's not only Shiro who’s up fighting off nightmares.

It’s several weeks after Allura declared herself the TK7526-38 sheriff, and Allura and Coran are beginning to feel as if they’ve always been a part of the Lion House. Perhaps that is why some of her walls come down. Shiro had been wandering to the kitchen, pretending to reorient himself but really using it as an excuse to check that everyone he loves is _here_ and _safe_. So he’s up to hear the soft sounds coming from outside.

“Hey,” says Shiro stepping out onto the porch, just loud enough to be heard. The wood creaks under his feet as he approaches the steps where Allura is in her dressing gown, hair in disarray down her back. Her arms are wrapped around her knees, her head bowed. He takes a seat next to her. “You, too, huh?”

Allura startles a little but soon relaxes. She sighs. “I suppose I wasn’t subtle.”

Shiro makes a noncommittal hum. “I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t up, too,” he points out.

Allura rubs her face. There are tears seated underneath her eyes, but he doesn’t mention it. She lifts her head to look at him. “What’s it for you?” 

Anyone else, and Shiro would lie. But this is Allura.

“Gladiator pits,” he admits after a moment. “Only this time Keith and the others were there.”

Allura sucks in a breath. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a beat, and then Allura says, “I was at the destruction of Altea again.”

“Sheesh. That’s not any better.”

Allura gulps and nods. She pulls her dressing gown tighter around herself. “I…” She takes a deep breath and then suddenly bursts out, “I just wish I could _fight._ The Galra are taking over, harming more and more beings. And my people died to protect me.” She buries her face in her hands. “They must have expected me to _do_ something. Or—”

“Hey, Allura, _no_ ,” soothes Shiro. It’s so much easier to recognize a destructive train of thought when he isn’t the one having it. “Your people saved you because they cared about _you_. They wanted you to live. It’s enough to just _be._ ”

Allura looks over at Shiro. Finally, she whispers, “Do you really believe that?”

Shiro’s first instinct is to say yes. Of course he does. But she’s not asking if he believes it in general. She’s also asking if he believes it for himself.

Which is harder. Shiro is constantly fighting the weight of his past, and he hadn’t thought about it much before Allura started bringing it up, but he _hates_ what the Galra have done. Both to him and Allura, and to the countless others who have suffered. There’s a vicious part inside him that wants to bring them down. To make them _bleed._ Even if he and Allura just took off now and did what they could—!

But then Shiro thinks of Keith and “I want to follow you.” Of Lance and Hunk who support them all and still need that support themselves. And Pidge who has already lost her family to the Galra empire once. And he thinks about how they _finally_ got it through his head that they don’t want him to leave. They’d probably find a way to follow him, actually, and Shiro feels his stomach drop at the thought. He _can’t_ let them get hurt by the Galra. If there’s _one thing_ he’s determined to do, it’s to keep them safe. He doesn’t care if the rest of the universe burns in the process.

_…_

_Oh_.

Lance is still excited to meet new people. Pidge’s eyes light up when she finds new tech. Hunk tinkers with everything, convinced he can make it work better, and Keith whoops in excitement with every trick on the hover. They’re _happy_ , despite everything, and still finding and expecting good in the universe.

More than anything, Shiro wants to protect _that_.

“There’s a saying we have on Earth,” he says finally. “‘ _The best revenge is living well.’_ Maybe that’s all we can do. Keep living and be the people they didn’t want us to be.”

Allura considers him. “Choosing peace instead of anger,” she says carefully. “That is a very noble philosophy.”

Shiro shakes his head. “Hmmm…no. More like outright rebellion. They wanted me to be their weapon? A killer? No. I’m going to adopt four kids I love with all my heart and nurture the hell out of them.”

Allura’s lips twitch. “Vengeful altruism?”

Shiro snorts. After a minute, Allura laughs softly, too. She scoots closer to him, some of the tension fading from her shoulders, but she doesn’t say anything and Shiro doesn’t feel the need to prompt her.

“You’re very wise,” she says finally.

He raises his eyebrows. “Um, whoever told you that was lying.”

She laughs lightly and shoves him. That’s probably meant to be lightly, too, but Allura’s strength is nothing to sneeze at and he has to catch himself before he topples over.

“When I escaped,” she begins, “I spent so much energy thinking about how I was going to get revenge. But I never got anywhere. I was just lost in the expanse of space, doing nothing.”

“Surviving isn’t nothing,” says Shiro. “Especially when the Galra have put a price on your head.”

“Yes, but…” Allura hunches her shoulders. “I was lost. Looking back, I feel like I was only a shell of myself.” Her voice grows quieter. “I know Coran was worried about me.”

Shiro knows the feeling. Some days he still feels it, like the place where his soul was supposed to go has been scraped out and left empty. It’s been filling, slowly, but it’s still there.

“But _you_ ,” Allura nods to him. “You found people. Maybe you couldn’t fight the Galra any more than I could, but you took in people who needed you. You did something _good_ for them.”

“To be clear, I needed them just as much as they needed me,” says Shiro. “Probably more.”

“And that’s what makes you wise,” counters Allura. “You reached out to others and allowed yourself to connect with them.”

Shiro’s ready to point out that ‘allowed’ is really a lofty word for how chaos has infiltrated his life, but Allura isn’t finished.

“I needed others as well,” she continues softly. “But I pulled away in fear of getting hurt.”

“You had lost quite a lot.”

“But wouldn’t I lose even more if I keep myself away?” she asks earnestly.

And Shiro feels a sudden surge of affection for Allura. He knows how much strength it takes to keep going, and he’s only had his own life wrecked. He can’t imagine the bravery she must have to persevere after losing her entire planet.

“Doesn’t make it easy, though,” he tells her, and she smiles with understanding.

She looks out at the desert and then back at him. “Do you really think just living is enough?”

“Well, it’s not saving the universe,” admits Shiro. “But the Galra wanted to take us and turn both of us into weapons to build their empire. I figure escaping their control and living to _help_ other people is about the biggest ‘fuck you’ we can throw in their faces.”

Allura smiles. “Revenge through righteous living?”

“How about wrathful kindness?”

“Goodness through pure _spite._ ”

That makes Shiro laugh. “Yeah, that’s definitely it.” He tilts his head back, sobering. “It’s just…they made me fight and kill so many times in their arena. From now on, I want to fight for what _I_ believe in. Even if that’s just keeping the people I love safe.”

“I like that idea,” she says, and her smile finally looks at peace. “Fighting for what _we_ believe in.” She leans against his shoulder. “Thank you for listening to me, Shiro.”

“Thank you for sharing,” says Shiro. “It means a lot, to have you here.”

And because Allura is Allura, she says, “I know.” And she means the same thing when she says, “You, too.”

Days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into a comfortable level of chaos in the Lion House. With the help of Coran, Pidge and Hunk have moved their tinkering out of the laundry room and instead taken over the barn. Shiro has stopped trying to keep track of the staggering number of projects they have going and instead settles for periodic lectures on lab safety. Lance instigates weekly Family Game Night, which sounded nice in theory but somehow always escalates to yelling and threats of violence (Shiro is, shamefully, not entirely innocent in this regard). And yet they keep coming back like it’s the highlight of their week. Allura continues to bully the planet into a rule of law, and Keith has finally settled into the new additions to the family. Shiro has even seen him and Allura huddled together recently, and while he’s not sure why there’s such a secretive vibe to what they’re doing, he takes it as a win and assumes he can trust them. Mostly.

(Keith and Allura both have a tendency to throw themselves full throttle into whatever they do. But that’s not going to come back to bite them. Right?)

And then one day, Lance begs Shiro to take him flying on the hover, “Please, please, please! You and Keith already tested out all modifications, it’s totally safe. I promise to be good!”

Shiro chuckles but still hesitates. “There’s the repairs on the _azwukezi_ cage…”

“Don’t worry about it, Shiro,” says Allura from where she’s sorting parts in the living room with Pidge and Keith. Hunk and Coran have been working on something in the barn for most the afternoon. “We’ll take care of it. Go have fun.”

In a surprising show of solidarity, Keith nods. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

Keith rarely gives up the chance to fly, but Lance craves individual attention. It’s sweet that Keith’s letting him have this.

“All right.” Shiro squeezes Lance’s shoulder. “Go get your jacket and meet me outside in five.”

“Ten-four!” Lance snaps him a salute and runs upstairs. Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro spots Allura smile as she shakes her head. She catches him looking and makes a face that says _He’s adorable/ridiculous,_ and Shiro grins as he goes out the door. Having another adult around is the best.

Lance sprints out of the Lion House after barely a minute, beaming and eager. He scrambles onto the hover in front of Shiro on the hover. Shiro braces his hands on the seat to prevent himself from sliding forward and squashing the smaller boy, and then on Shiro’s go ahead, Lance, nearly shivering with excitement, turns on the engines and gets them flying.

Lance is a very good pilot, and he’s improved by leaps in the past few weeks. He just needed the time to practice—time that he wasn’t likely to give himself when he was competing with Keith or the expectations of anyone else he perceived in the vicinity. But he shines one-on-one, and recently, he even seems to have let go of the need to prove himself to Shiro, which Shiro can only take as a compliment. Lance is a hard worker, and Shiro has no problem letting him attempt the same move over and over until he gets it right.

Well, maybe a little bit. But there’s just so much _fun_ to be had on a hover. He doesn’t want Lance missing out.

“You know, I think you’re ready for cliff diving,” says Shiro after a good hour of flying.

Lance freezes. “Wait. That crazy flying-off-cliffs thing you and Keith do?”

"Yep. Want to try it?”

“Um.” Lance’s knuckles are tight on the handlebars. “Yeah!” He’s clearly nervous, but Shiro knows better than to comment.

Besides, Shiro knows Lance can do it.

“There’s some cliffs with a nice flat plateau just north of here. See over there?”

Lance turns them in the direction Shiro’s pointing, and Shiro hears him gulp. “Um, those are some pretty tall cliffs. Sure we shouldn’t start smaller?”

“Nah. Too short, you can’t get the right momentum.”

“Okay, um. That’s comforting.”

Shiro laughs and squeezes Lance just a little. “You can do this, Lance.”

“You’ll be telling me when to pull up, right?”

The trust in Lance’s voice is touching. Unfortunately, Shiro doesn’t have a comforting answer.

“If you wait until I tell you, you’ll be too late every time. You’re going to have to trust your instincts. You’ve done this with me and Keith dozens of times. You’ll know how it feels.”

“Uh…” They’re idling about a hundred yards from the edge of the cliffs, which Lance is eying fearfully.

“Hey.” Shiro squeezes his waist. “I’ve been flying with you all day. I know what you’re capable of. I believe in you, Lance.”

“Okay.” Lance takes a deep breath. “So I just…fly off the cliff. And do what you do?”

“Yep. And don’t flinch at the edge. That’s important.”

“Okay.” Lance squares his shoulders and breathes again. “ _Okay_.”

Lance revs the engines and flies. They soar off the cliff, and Shiro feels the familiar swing in his stomach. Lance shrieks and nearly brains Shiro as he yanks up at the last minute. But he catches the engines right, and that shriek turns into a scream of delight as they launch forward on a pocket of air.

“I did it! Oh my goodness, that was terrifying. I’m never doing that again. But holy crow, Shiro, I did it!”

Shiro laughs. “Yeah, you did.”

“That is the scariest thing I’ve done in my _life_!”

“Including breaking into a Galra warship?”

“Yeah, duh,” says Lance. “Then I was filled with righteous anger. This time I actually had time to think about it. Holy shit!”

Shiro laughing and Lance still occasionally swearing, they make their way back to the Lion House.

But as they get near, Lance starts swerving and taking detours.

“Lance.”

“Hey, Shiro. Think I can make it over that rock?”

The rock he’s referring to is barely a foot tall. “Lance _._ ”

“Woah, let’s check out this cactus!”

“ _Lance_.”

The Lion House is a dark dot on the horizon and Shiro thinks it’s about time he checked in with the others, but Lance isn’t making progress towards it. Shiro is still squinting at the House when he spots a silver glint.

“Was that a flare?”

“Oh, huh?” Lance stops chasing after cacti and turns them around. “Guess we better head back then.”

Which is what Shiro had been trying to say, but he’s not going to argue the point now. For some reason, Lance swings them around the back of the House, pulling up by the porch instead going to the barn like Shiro expects. And more surprisingly, Keith is sitting on the steps waiting for them.

“Guess who’s arrived!” calls Lance as he parks the hover in a cloud of dust which isn’t necessary but makes Keith cough and go, “Ugh. _Lance!_ ”

Lance jumps off the hover and says, “So. Are we ready?” without even pausing to boast about his newest accomplishment, which is when Shiro starts to really suspect something’s up.

Keith gives Lance a deadpan look. “You are the epitome of subtle, Lance.”

“Buuuutt…?”

“Yeah.”

“All right. Let’s go!”

Then to Shiro’s surprise, each of them grab one of his arms and start dragging him around the House.

“Okay,” says Shiro, allowing himself to be dragged. “What’s going on here?”

“Going on? Who says anything is going on here?”

“It’s nothing bad,” Keith assures him.

“Keith!”

“What? He already knows something’s up!”

“Yeah, but you can’t just _acknowledge_ that. It ruins the surprise!”

“What? _How_ —?”

Shiro swallows his laughter. “I promise to still be very surprised.”

“ _See?_ ” says Lance.

Keith throws his hands up in exasperation. “No!”

Shiro is still laughing as they round the corner. He notices that Pidge, Hunk, Allura, and Coran are outside waiting for them. They’re all gathered around—

Shiro stops dead.

“ _I think he noticed the ship_ ,” Hunk stage-whispers to Pidge.

“No kidding,” she hisses back, but she’s grinning hard.

Allura’s ship has been parked next to the Lion House since she arrived with them. Which is a good thing because with their old Galra shuttle left on a warship somewhere, they wouldn’t have a way to get off planet if she hadn’t stayed. But that’s not what has caught Shiro’s attention. He’s looking at the ship _beside_ Allura’s. One that’s smaller and sleeker, built for two passengers max. It has the distinctive white sheen of Altean metal, but there are seams where the parts have been taken apart and repurposed. It looks spaceworthy, but judging by the size and position of the thrusters, it’s no ordinary shuttle.

No way. Is that an Altean _fighter jet_?

“Allura’s ship had some shuttles to serve as escape pods,” says Pidge. “Hunk and I used one as the base for modifications. Coran helped us optimize the engines and slim down the design. This thing can go _fast_ , turn on a dime, and the inertia compensators mean it won’t kill you.”

Mentions of “kill you” go in one ear and out the other.

“Can I…?”

“It’s yours,” says Allura stepping forward.

Shiro’s mouth drops open. “But—it’s your ship. This is your technology—”

“And I gladly give it to you,” says Allura. “Pidge and Hunk built this with you in mind. You have been a positive influence in each of our lives, a source of strength and comfort to each of us when we needed it most. We wanted to give a little of that back to you and something that _you_ love in return in gratitude for all you’ve done for us.”

Shiro has no idea what to say.

“Here,” says Hunk, handing a bundle of fabric and harder plating into his hands. Pidge follows up with a helmet. “This is from us.”

Shiro turns it over, eyes widening. “Is this a vac suit?”

“It’s entirely spaceworthy,” confirms Coran. “And I think you’ll find an extendable tether from the belt and jet packs on the back. For emergencies,” he adds with a wink.

Shiro’s astonishment is nearly enough to bowl him over. “Does that mean…?”

“You said you missed space walks,” says Keith.

Shiro’s breath catches in his chest. He could—floating in the vacuum of space, nothing between him and the expanse of the universe, one among the stars… Shiro wants it with a sudden ache. He clutches the helmet to his chest.

“Can I fly it now?”

“That’s what we’re here for, my boy!” says Coran.

“ _All_ of you? I don’t think the ship can fit more than…”

“We’re going with you in the Castle,” says Allura. “The ship is yours, but we don’t want to miss you trying it out.”

“I—” Shiro’s cheeks hurt, and he realizes it’s from grinning. “Just give me a minute to change.”

Shiro climbs into the cockpit of the fighter. The Lion House is in his head, telling him he can do this, but it wants him back by the end of the day. It sounds almost sulky, and Shiro smiles as he sends back a pulse of reassurance. For the first time in his life, he has a home he _wants_ to go back to. Still, there’s something thrillingly familiar about climbing up to a cockpit with a helmet under one arm. Pidge’s instructions for flying the ship basically came down to, “Figure it out,” and Shiro is _excited._ He pulls his helmet over his head, listening to it click into place with the rest of his suit, and flexes his fingers under the gloves. A wave of nostalgia floods over him, and he fumbles to turn on the coms.

“Shirogane to Castle. Are we go for launch?”

There’s some static and quick, indistinct muttering, and then Hunk’s voice comes over the coms.

“Castle to Shirogane. All units in position. Launch is a go.”

“Kick ass, Shiro!” yells Lance from the background.

Shiro laughs as he turns on the engines, and the ship responds with a purr that he already knows he’s going to fall in love with. He can barely contain his excitement as he points the nose up, to the atmosphere, to the skies _._

His family is in his ears, the Lion House in his heart, and his eyes on the stars.

Shiro flies. And he is finally—completely and utterly— _home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap! Thank you to everyone who stuck with this to the end whether you were here from the first beginning or just now discovered it. You're all amazing :D

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, leave me a kudos or a comment! 
> 
> Also, check out my [tumblr](https://mckinlily.tumblr.com) if you want to chat!


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